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THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 

DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 

SOCIETIES 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  N.  C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


00013145919 


This  book  is  due  at  the  LOUIS  R.  WILSON  LIBRARY  on  the 
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Form  No.  513 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2011  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hil 


http://www.archive.org/details/thousandmilewalkmuir 


ILarge^aper  C&ttton 


A  "Thousand- Mile  Walk 
to  the  Gulf 


A  Florida  Sunset 
From  a  water-color  by  Amelia  M.  Watson 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 
to  the  Gulf 

By 
"John  Muir 


Boston  and  New  York 

Houghton  Mifflin  Company 

ipi6 


COPYRIGHT,    1916,   BY   HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 
ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 


FIVE  HUNDRED  AND  FIFTY  COPIES 
OF  THIS  LARGE-PAPER  EDITION 
WERE  PRINTED  AT  THE  RIVERSIDE 
PRESS,  CAMBRIDGE,  IN  OCTOBER,  1916. 
FIVE  HUNDRED  COPIES  ARE  FOR 
SALE.  THIS  IS  NUMBER  JtfcT 


Contents 


Introduction ix 

I.  Kentucky  Forests  and  Caves i 

II.  Crossing  the  Cumberland  Mountains  .      .  .    17 

III.  Through  the  River  Country  of  Georgia  ...    47 

IV.  Camping  among  the  Tombs 66 

V.  Through  Florida  Swamps  and  Forests  ....    83 

VI.  Cedar  Keys 123 

VII.  A  Sojourn  in  Cuba 143 

VIII.  By  a  Crooked  Route  to  California     .      .      .      .169 

IX.  Twenty  Hill  Hollow 192 

Index 213 


501330 


Illustrations 


A  Florida  Sunset  .       Hand-colored  Photogravure  Frontispiece 

From  a  water-color  by  Miss  Amelia  M.  Watson 

John  Muir  about  1870 x 

From  a  photograph  by  Bradley  fif  Rulofson,  San  Francisco,  Cal. 

Inside  Cover  and  First  Pace  of  Mr.  Muir's  Journal 
of  his  Walk  to  the  Gulf xviii 

From  the  original 

Map  showing  Route  of  Walk      • 1 

Kentucky  Oaks 2 

From  a  photograph  by  Theodore  Eitel 
Entrance  to  Mammoth  Cave 12 

From  a  photograph.    By  courtesy  of  the  Louisville  and  Nashville 
Railroad 

Pages  18  and  19  of  the  Journal,    with   Sketch   of 
Meeting  with  the  Old  Tennessee  Farmer  .     ao 

From  the  original 

The  Clinch  River,  Tennessee 30 

From  a  photograph.    By  courtesy  of  the  Louisville  and  Nashville 
Railroad 

A  Southern  Pine 54 

From  a  photograph  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason 
Spanish  Moss  (Tillandsia) 58 

From  a  photograph  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason 

In  Bonaventure  Cemetery,  Savannah   ....  68 

From  a  photograph  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason 

By  the  St.  John's  River  in  Eastern  Florida  ...     90 

From  a  photograph  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason 

[vii] 


Illustrations 


A  Florida  Palmetto  Hummock,  or  "Hammock"        .   114 

From  a  photograph  by  Herbert  K.  jfob 

Page  of  Journal  with  Sketch  showing  Palmettos  in 
Different  Stages  of  Development        .       .       .       .118 

From  the  original 

A  Shell  Mound  at  Cedar  Keys,  Florida        .       .       .126 

From  a  photograph  by  A.  J.  Smith 

Lime  Key 134 

From  Mr.  Muir's  sketch  in  the  original  journal 

Morro  Castle  and  Entrance  to  Havana  Harbor        .   148 

From  a  photograph 

Twenty  Hill  Hollow,  Merced  County,  California  .   194 

From  a  sketch  by  Mr.  Muir 


Introduction 

JOHN  MUIR,  Earth-planet,  Universe."— 
These  words  are  written  on  the  inside 
cover  of  the  notebook  from  which  the  con- 
tents of  this  volume  have  been  taken.  They 
reflect  the  mood  in  which  the  late  author  and 
explorer  undertook  his  thousand-mile  walk  to 
the  Gulf  of  Mexico  a  half-century  ago.  No  less 
does  this  refreshingly  cosmopolitan  address, 
which  might  have  startled  any  finder  of  the 
book,  reveal  the  temper  and  the  comprehen- 
siveness of  Mr.  Muir's  mind.  He  never  was  and 
never  could  be  a  parochial  student  of  nature. 
Even  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-nine  his  eager 
interest  in  every  aspect  of  the  natural  world  had 
made  him  a  citizen  of  the  universe. 

While  this  was  by  far  the  longest  botanical 
excursion  which  Mr.  Muir  made  in  his  earlier 
years,  it  was  by  no  means  the  only  one.  He 
had  botanized  around  the  Great  Lakes,  in 
Ontario,  and  through  parts  of  Wisconsin, 
[ix] 


Introduction 

Indiana,  and  Illinois.  On  these  expeditions  he 
had  disciplined  himself  to  endure  hardship, 
for  his  notebooks  disclose  the  fact  that  he  often 
went  hungry  and  slept  in  the  woods,  or  on  the 
open  prairies,  with  no  cover  except  the  clothes 
he  wore. 

"Oftentimes,"  he  writes  in  some  unpublished 
biographical  notes,  "I  had  to  sleep  out  with- 
out blankets,  and  also  without  supper  or  break- 
fast. But  usually  I  had  no  great  difficulty  in 
finding  a  loaf  of  bread  in  the  widely  scattered 
clearings  of  the  farmers.  With  one  of  these  big 
backwoods  loaves  I  was  able  to  wander  many 
a  long,  wild  mile,  free  as  the  winds  in  the  glori- 
ous forests  and  bogs,  gathering  plants  and  feed- 
ing on  God's  abounding,  inexhaustible  spiritual 
beauty  bread.  Only  once  in  my  long  Canada 
wanderings  was  the  deep  peace  of  the  wilder- 
ness savagely  broken.  It  happened  in  the  maple 
woods  about  midnight,  when  I  was  cold  and  my 
fire  was  low.  I  was  awakened  by  the  awfully 
dismal  howling  of  the  wolves,  and  got  up  in 
haste  to  replenish  the  fire." 
[x] 


JOHN   MUIR  ABOUT  1870 


Introduction 

It  was  not,  therefore,  a  new  species  of  ad- 
venture upon  which  Mr.  Muir  embarked  when 
he  started  on  his  Southern  foot-tour.  It  was 
only  a  new  response  to  the  lure  of  those  favor- 
ite studies  which  he  had  already  pursued  over 
uncounted  miles  of  virgin  Western  forests  and 
prairies.  Indeed,  had  it  not  been  for  the  acci- 
dental injury  to  his  right  eye  in  the  month  of 
March,  1867,  he  probably  would  have  started 
somewhat  earlier  than  he  did.  In  a  letter  writ- 
ten to  Indianapolis  friends  on  the  day  after  the 
accident,  he  refers  mournfully  to  the  interrup- 
tion of  a  long-cherished  plan.  "For  weeks," 
he  writes,  "I  have  daily  consulted  maps  in  lo- 
cating a  route  through  the  Southern  States,  the 
West  Indies,  South  America,  and  Europe  —  a 
botanical  journey  studied  for  years.  And  so  my 
mind  has  long  been  in  a  glow  with  visions  of  the 
glories  of  a  tropical  flora;  but,  alas,  I  am  half 
blind.  My  right  eye,  trained  to  minute  analy- 
sis, is  lost  and  I  have  scarce  heart  to  open  the 
other.  Had  this  journey  been  accomplished, 
the  stock  of  varied  beauty  acquired  would  have 
[  xi  1 


Introduction 

made  me  willing  to  shrink  into  any  corner  of 
the  world,  however  obscure  and  however  re- 
mote." 

The  injury  to  his  eye  proved  to  be  less  serious 
than  he  had  at  first  supposed.  In  June  he  was 
writing  to  a  friend:  "I  have  been  reading  and 
botanizing  for  some  weeks,  and  find  that  for 
such  work  I  am  not  very  much  disabled.  I  leave 
this  city  [Indianapolis]  for  home  to-morrow, 
accompanied  by  Merrill  Moores,  a  little  friend 
of  mine.  We  will  go  to  Decatur,  Illinois,  thence 
northward  through  the  wide  prairies,  botaniz- 
ing a  few  weeks  by  the  way.  ...  I  hope  to  go 
South  towards  the  end  of  the  summer,  and  as 
this  will  be  a  journey  that  I  know  very  little 
about,  I  hope  to  profit  by  your  counsel  before 
setting  out." 

In  an  account  written  after  the  excursion  he 
says:  "I  was  eager  to  see  Illinois  prairies  on  my 
way  home,  so  we  went  to  Decatur,  near  the 
center  of  the  State,  thence  north  [to  Portage] 
by  Rockford  and  Janesville.  I  botanized  one 
week  on  the  prairie  about  seven  miles  south- 
[  xii] 


Introduction 

west  of  Pecatonica.  ...  To  me  all  plants  are 
more  precious  than  before.  My  poor  eye  is  not 
better,  nor  worse.  A  cloud  is  over  it,  but  in 
gazing  over  the  widest  landscapes,  I  am  not 
always  sensible  of  its  presence." 

By  the  end  of  August  Mr.  Muir  was  back 
again  in  Indianapolis.  He  had  found  it  con- 
venient to  spend  a  "botanical  week"  among 
his  University  friends  in  Madison.  So  keen 
was  his  interest  in  plants  at  this  time  that  an 
interval  of  five  hours  spent  in  Chicago  was 
promptly  turned  to  account  in  a  search  for 
them.  "I  did  not  find  many  plants  in  her  tu- 
multuous streets,"  he  complains;  "only  a  few 
grassy  plants  of  wheat,  and  two  or  three  species 
of  weeds,  —  amaranth,  purslane,  carpet-weed, 
etc.,  —  the  weeds,  I  suppose,  for  man  to  walk 
upon,  the  wheat  to  feed  him.  I  saw  some 
green  algae,  but  no  mosses.  Some  of  the  latter 
I  expected  to  see  on  wet  walls,  and  in  seams  on 
the  pavements.  But  I  suppose  that  the  manu- 
facturers' smoke  and  the  terrible  noise  are  too 
great  for  the  hardiest  of  them.  I  wish  I  knew 
[  xiii  ] 


Introduction 

where  I  was  going.  Doomed  to  be  'carried  of 
the  spirit  into  the  wilderness/  I  suppose.  I 
wish  I  could  be  more  moderate  in  my  desires, 
but  I  cannot,  and  so  there  is  no  rest." 

The  letter  noted  above  was  written  only  two 
days  before  he  started  on  his  long  walk  to 
Florida.  If  the  concluding  sentences  still  re- 
flect indecision,  they  also  convey  a  hint  of  the 
overmastering  impulse  under  which  he  was 
acting.  The  opening  sentences  of  his  journal, 
afterwards  crossed  out,  witness  to  this  sense  of 
inward  compulsion  which  he  felt."  Few  bodies," 
he  wrote,  "are  inhabited  by  so  satisfied  a  soul 
that  they  are  allowed  exemption  from  extra- 
ordinary exertion  through  a  whole  life."  After 
reciting  illustrations  of  nature's  periodicity,  of 
the  ebbs  and  flows  of  tides,  and  the  pulsation 
of  other  forces,  visible  and  invisible,  he  observes 
that  "  so  also  there  are  tides  not  only  in  the  af- 
fairs of  men,  but  in  the  primal  thing  of  life  it- 
self. In  some  persons  the  impulse,  being  slight, 
is  easily  obeyed  or  overcome.  But  in  others  it 
is  constant  and  cumulative  in  action  until  its 
[  xiv  1 


Introduction 

power  is  sufficient  to  overmaster  all  impedi- 
ments, and  to  accomplish  the  full  measure  of  its 
demands.  For  many  a  year  I  have  been  im- 
pelled toward  the  Lord's  tropic  gardens  of  the 
South.  Many  influences  have  tended  to  blunt 
or  bury  this  constant  longing,  but  it  has  out- 
lived and  overpowered  them  all." 

Muir's  love  of  nature  was  so  largely  a  part 
of  his  religion  that  he  naturally  chose  Biblical 
phraseology  when  he  sought  a  vehicle  for  his 
feelings.  No  prophet  of  old  could  have  taken 
his  call  more  seriously,  or  have  entered  upon 
his  mission  more  frevently.  During  the  long 
days  of  his  confinement  in  a  dark  room  he  had 
opportunity  for  much  reflection.  He  concluded 
that  life  was  too  brief  and  uncertain,  and  time 
too  precious,  to  waste  upon  belts  and  saws ;  that 
while  he  was  pottering  in  a  wagon  factory,  God 
was  making  a  world ;  and  he  determined  that, 
if  his  eyesight  was  spared,  he  would  devote  the 
remainder  of  his  life  to  a  study  of  the  process. 
Thus  the  previous  bent  of  his  habits  and  studies, 
and  the  sobering  thoughts  induced  by  one  of  the 
[  xv  ] 


Introduction 

bitterest  experiences  of  his  life,  combined  to 
send  him  on  the  long  journey  recorded  in  these 
pages. 

Some  autobiographical  notes  found  among 
his  papers  furnish  interesting  additional  de- 
tails about  the  period  between  his  release  from 
the  dark  room  and  his  departure  for  the  South. 
"As  soon  as  I  got  out  into  heaven's  light,"  he 
says,  "I  started  on  another  long  excursion, 
making  haste  with  all  my  heart  to  store  my 
mind  with  the  Lord's  beauty,  and  thus  be  ready 
for  any  fate,  light  or  dark.  And  it  was  from 
this  time  that  my  long,  continuous  wanderings 
may  be  said  to  have  fairly  commenced.  I  bade 
adieu  to  mechanical  inventions,  determined  to 
devote  the  rest  of  my  life  to  the  study  of  the 
inventions  of  God.  I  first  went  home  to  Wis- 
consin, botanizing  by  the  way,  to  take  leave  of 
my  father  and  mother,  brothers  and  sisters,  all 
of  whom  were  still  living  near  Portage.  I  also 
visited  the  neighbors  I  had  known  as  a  boy, 
renewed  my  acquaintance  with  them  after  an 
absence  of  several  years,  and  bade  each  a  formal 
[  xvi  ] 


Introduction 

good-bye.  When  they  asked  where  I  was  going 
I  said,  'Oh!  I  don't  know  —  just  anywhere  in 
the  wilderness,  southward.  I  have  already  had 
glorious  glimpses  of  the  Wisconsin,  Iowa,  Mich- 
igan, Indiana,  and  Canada  wildernesses;  now 
I  propose  to  go  South  and  see  something  of  the 
vegetation  of  the  warm  end  of  the  country,  and 
if  possible  to  wander  far  enough  into  South 
America  to  see  tropical  vegetation  in  all  its 
palmy  glory/ 

"The  neighbors  wished  me  well,  advised  me 
to  be  careful  of  my  health,  and  reminded 
me  that  the  swamps  in  the  South  were  full  of 
malaria.  I  stopped  overnight  at  the  home  of 
an  old  Scotch  lady  who  had  long  been  my  friend 
and  was  now  particularly  motherly  in  good 
wishes  and  advice.  I  told  her  that  as  I  was 
sauntering  along  the  road,  just  as  the  sun  was 
going  down,  I  heard  a  darling  speckled-breast 
sparrow  singing,  'The  day 's  done,  the  day 's 
done/  'Weel,  John,  my  dear  laddie/  she  re- 
plied, 'your  day  will  never  be  done.  There  is 
no  end  to  the  kind  of  studies  you  like  so  well, 
[  xvii  ] 


Introduction 

but  there's  an  end  to  mortals'  strength  of  body 
and  mind,  to  all  that  mortals  can  accomplish. 
You  are  sure  to  go  on  and  on,  but  I  want  you 
to  remember  the  fate  of  Hugh  Miller.'  She  was 
one  of  the  finest  examples  I  ever  knew  of  a  kind, 
generous,  great-hearted  Scotchwoman." 

The  formal  leave-taking  from  family  and 
neighbors  indicates  his  belief  that  he  was  part- 
ing from  home  and  friends  for  a  long  time.  On 
Sunday,  the  ist  of  September,  1867,  Mr.  Muir 
said  good-bye  also  to  his  Indianapolis  friends, 
and  went  by  rail  to  JefTersonville,  where  he 
spent  the  night.  The  next  morning  he  crossed 
the  river,  walked  through  Louisville,  and 
struck  southward  through  the  State  of  Ken- 
tucky. A  letter  written  a  week  later  "among 
the  hills  of  Bear  Creek,  seven  miles  southeast 
of  Burkesville,  Kentucky,"  shows  that  he  had 
covered  about  twenty-five  miles  a  day.  "I 
walked  from  Louisville,"  he  says,  "a  distance 
of  one  hundred  and  seventy  miles,  and  my  feet 
are  sore.  But,  oh !  I  am  paid  for  all  my  toil  a 
thousand  times  over.  I  am  in  the  woods  on  a 
[  xviii  ] 


oh 

Wo 

q  h 


-  -1; 


Q  £ 
2  fa 

<o 

> 

o 


Introduction 

hilltop  with  my  back  against  a  moss-clad  log. 
I  wish  you  could  see  my  last  evening's  bed- 
room. The  sun  has  been  among  the  tree-tops 
for  more  than  an  hour;  the  dew  is  nearly  all 
taken  back,  and  the  shade  in  these  hill  basins 
is  creeping  away  into  the  unbroken  strongholds 
of  the  grand  old  forests. 

"I  have  enjoyed  the  trees  and  scenery  of 
Kentucky  exceedingly.  How  shall  I  ever  tell 
of  the  miles  and  miles  of  beauty  that  have  been 
flowing  into  me  in  such  measure  ?  These  lofty 
curving  ranks  of  lobing,  swelling  hills,  these 
concealed  valleys  of  fathomless  verdure,  and 
these  lordly  trees  with  the  nursing  sunlight 
glancing  in  their  leaves  upon  the  outlines  of  the 
magnificent  masses  of  shade  embosomed  among 
their  wide  branches  —  these  are  cut  into  my 
memory  to  go  with  me  forever. 

"I  was  a  few  miles  south  of  Louisville  when 
I  planned  my  journey.  I  spread  out  my  map 
under  a  tree  and  made  up  my  mind  to  go 
through  Kentucky,  Tennessee,  and  Georgia 
to  Florida,  thence  to  Cuba,  thence  to  some  part 
[  xlx  ] 


Introduction 

of  South  America;  but  it  will  be  only  a  hasty 
walk.  I  am  thankful,  however,  for  so  much. 
My  route  will  be  through  Kingston  and  Madi- 
sonville,  Tennessee,  and  through  Blairsville 
and  Gainesville,  Georgia.  Please  write  me 
at  Gainesville.  I  am  terribly  letter-hungry.  I 
hardly  dare  to  think  of  home  and  friends." 
;  In  editing  the  journal  I  have  endeavored,  by 
use  of  all  the  available  evidence,  to  trail  Mr. 
Muir  as  closely  as  possible  on  maps  of  the  sixties 
as  well  as  on  the  most  recent  state  and  topo- 
graphical maps.  The  one  used  by  him  has  not 
been  found,  and  probably  is  no  longer  in  exist- 
ence. Only  about  twenty-two  towns  and  cities 
are  mentioned  in  his  journal.  This  constitutes 
a  very  small  number  when  one  considers  the 
distance  he  covered.  Evidently  he  was  so  ab- 
sorbed in  the  plant  life  of  the  region  traversed 
that  he  paid  no  heed  to  towns,  and  perhaps 
avoided  them  wherever  possible. 

The  sickness  which  overtook  him  in  Florida 
was  probably  of  a  malarial  kind,  although  he 
describes  it  under  different  names.  It  was,  no 
[«] 


Introduction 

doubt,  a  misfortune  in  itself,  and  a  severe  test 
for  his  vigorous  constitution.  But  it  was  also  a 
blessing  in  disguise,  inasmuch  as  it  prevented 
him  from  carrying  out  his  foolhardy  plan  of 
penetrating  the  tropical  jungles  of  South 
America  along  the  Andes  to  a  tributary  of  the 
Amazon,  and  then  floating  down  the  river  on 
a  raft  to  the  Atlantic.  As  readers  of  the  jour- 
nal will  perceive,  he  clung  to  this  intention  even 
during  his  convalescence  at  Cedar  Keys  and  in 
Cuba.  In  a  letter  dated  the  8th  of  Novem- 
ber he  describes  himself  as  "just  creeping  about 
getting  plants  and  strength  after  my  fever." 
Then  he  asks  his  correspondent  to  direct  let- 
ters to  New  Orleans,  Louisiana.  "I  shall  have 
to  go  there,"  he  writes,  "for  a  boat  to  South 
America.  I  do  not  yet  know  to  which  point  in 
South  America  I  had  better  go."  His  hope  to 
find  there  a  boat  for  South  America  explains 
an  otherwise  mystifying  letter  in  which  he  re- 
quested his  brother  David  to  send  him  a  cer- 
tain sum  of  money  by  American  Express  order 
to  New  Orleans.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  did  not 
I  xxi  ] 


Introduction 

go  into  Louisiana  at  all,  either  because  he 
learned  that  no  south-bound  ship  was  avail- 
able at  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi,  or  because 
the  unexpected  appearance  of  the  Island  Belle 
in  the  harbor  of  Cedar  Keys  caused  him  to 
change  his  plans* 

In  later  years  Mr.  Muir  himself  strongly 
disparaged  the  wisdom  of  his  plans  with  respect 
to  South  America,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  chap- 
ter that  deals  with  his  Cuban  sojourn.  The 
judgment  there  expressed  was  lead-penciled 
into  his  journal  during  a  reading  of  it  long  after- 
wards. Nevertheless  the  Andes  and  the  South 
American  forests  continued  to  fascinate  his 
imagination,  as  his  letters  show,  for  many  years 
after  he  came  to  California.  When  the  long  de- 
ferred journey  to  South  America  was  finally 
made  in  191 1,  forty-four  years  after  the  first 
attempt,  he  whimsically  spoke  of  it  as  the  ful- 
fillment of  those  youthful  dreams  that  moved 
him  to  undertake  his  thousand-mile  walk  to 
the  Gulf. 

Mr.  Muir  always  recalled  with  gratitude  the 

[  xxii  ] 


Introduction 

Florida  friends  who  nursed  him  through  his 
long  and  serious  illness.  In  1898,  while  travel- 
ing through  the  South  on  a  forest-inspection 
tour  with  his  friend  Charles  Sprague  Sargent, 
he  took  occasion  to  revisit  the  scenes  of  his  early 
adventures.  It  may  be  of  interest  to  quote 
some  sentences  from  letters  written  at  that 
time  to  his  wife  and  to  his  sister  Sarah.  "I 
have  been  down  the  east  side  of  the  Florida 
peninsula  along  the  Indian  River,"  he  writes, 
"through  the  palm  and  pine  forests  to  Miami, 
and  thence  to  Key  West  and  the  southmost 
keys  stretching  out  towards  Cuba.  Returning, 
I  crossed  over  to  the  west  coast  by  Palatka  to 
Cedar  Keys,  on  my  old  track  made  thirty-one 
years  ago,  in  search  of  the  Hodgsons  who 
nursed  me  through  my  long  attack  of  fever. 
Mr.  Hodgson  died  long  ago,  also  the  eldest 
son,  with  whom  I  used  to  go  boating  among 
the  keys  while  slowly  convalescing." 

He  then  tells  how  he  found  Mrs.  Hodgson 
and  the  rest  of  the  family  at  Archer.  They  had 
long  thought  him  dead  and  were  naturally  very 

[  xxiii  ] 


Introduction 

much  surprised  to  see  him.  Mrs.  Hodgson  was 
in  her  garden  and  he  recognized  her,  though 
the  years  had  altered  her  appearance.  Let  us 
give  his  own  account  of  the  meeting:  "I  asked 
her  if  she  knew  me.  'No,  I  don't/  she  said; 
'tell  me  your  name.'  'Muir,'  I  replied.  'John 
Muir?  My  California  John  Muir?'  she  almost 
screamed.  I  said,  'Yes,  John  Muir;  and  you 
know  I  promised  to  return  and  visit  you  in 
about  twenty-five  years,  and  though  I  am  a 
little  late  —  six  or  seven  years  —  I  've  done 
the  best  I  could.'  The  eldest  boy  and  girl  re- 
membered the  stories  I  told  them,  and  when 
they  read  about  the  Muir  Glacier  they  felt  sure 
it  must  have  been  named  for  me.  I  stopped  at 
Archer  about  four  hours,  and  the  way  we  talked 
over  old  times  you  may  imagine."  From  Sa- 
vannah, on  the  same  trip,  he  wrote:  "Here  is 
where  I  spent  a  hungry,  weary,  yet  happy  week 
camping  in  Bonaventure  graveyard  thirty-one 
years  ago.  Many  changes,  I  am  told,  have 
been  made  in  its  graves  and  avenues  of  late,  and 
how  many  in  my  life!" 

[  xxiv  ] 


Introduction 

In  perusing  this  journal  the  reader  will  miss 
the  literary  finish  which  Mr.  Muir  was  accus- 
tomed to  give  to  his  later  writings.  This  fact 
calls  for  no  excuse.  Not  only  are  we  dealing 
here  with  the  earliest  product  of  his  pen,  but 
with  impressions  and  observations  written  down 
hastily  during  pauses  in  his  long  march.  He  ap- 
parently intended  to  use  this  raw  material  at 
some  time  for  another  book.  If  the  record,  as 
it  stands,  lacks  finish  and  adornment,  it  also 
possesses  the  immediacy  and  the  freshness  of 
first  impressions. 

The  sources  which  I  have  used  in  preparing 
this  volume  are  threefold:  (i)  the  original  jour- 
nal, of  which  the  first  half  contained  many  in- 
terlinear revisions  and  expansions,  and  a  con- 
siderable number  of  rough  pencil  sketches  of 
plants,  trees,  scenery,  and  notable  adventures ; 
(2)  a  wide-spaced,  typewritten,  rough  copy  of 
the  journal,  apparently  in  large  part  dictated 
to  a  stenographer;  it  is  only  slightly  revised, 
and  comparison  with  the  original  journal  shows 
many  significant  omissions  and  additions;  (3) 

[   XXV    ] 


Introduction 

two  separate  elaborations  of  his  experiences  in 
Savannah  when  he  camped  there  for  a  week 
in  the  Bonaventure  graveyard.  Throughout 
my  work  upon  the  primary  and  secondary 
materials  I  was  impressed  with  the  scrupu- 
lous fidelity  with  which  he  adhered  to  the 
facts  and  impressions  set  down  in  the  original 
journal. 

Readers  of  Muir's  writings  need  scarcely  be 
told  that  this  book,  autobiographically,  bridges 
the  period  between  The  Story  of  my  Boyhood 
and  Youth  and  My  First  Summer  in  the  Sierra. 
However,  one  span  of  the  bridge  was  lacking, 
for  the  journal  ends  with  Mr.  Muir's  arrival 
in  San  Francisco  about  the  first  of  April,  1868, 
while  his  first  summer  in  the  Sierra  was  that  of 
1869.  By  excerpting  from  a  letter  a  summary 
account  of  his  first  visit  to  Yosemite,  and  in- 
cluding a  description  of  Twenty  Hill  Hollow, 
where  he  spent  a  large  part  of  his  first  year  in 
California,  the  connection  is  made  complete. 
The  last  chapter  was  first  published  as  an  ar- 
ticle in  the  Overland  Monthly  of  July,  1872. 
[  xxvi  J 


Introduction 

A  revised  copy  of  the  printed  article,  found 
among  Muir's  literary  effects,  has  been  made 
the  basis  of  the  chapter  on  Twenty  Hill  Hol- 
low as  it  appears  in  this  volume. 

William  Frederic  Bade 


ROUTE      OF 
JOHN    MUIR'S    THOUSAND-  MIL!  >j 
WALK   TO     THE     GULF. 

NOTE: 

BY    RAIL.    FROM    INDIANAPOLIS     TO    JEFFERSON^ 
BY    BOAT  FROM    SAVANNAH     TO    FERNANDINA. 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 
to  the  Gulf 

CHAPTER  I 

KENTUCKY  FORESTS  AND  CAVES 

I  HAD  long  been  looking  from  the  wild  woods 
and  gardens  of  the  Northern  States  to  those 
of  the  warm  South,  and  at  last,  all  draw- 
backs overcome,  I  set  forth  [from  Indianapo- 
lis] on  the  first  day  of  September,  1867,  joyful 
and  free,  on  a  thousand-mile  walk  to  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico.  [The  trip  to  Jeffersonville,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Ohio,  was  made  by  rail.]  Crossing 
the  Ohio  at  Louisville  [September  2],  I  steered 
through  the  big  city  by  compass  without  speak- 
ing a  word  to  any  one.  Beyond  the  city  I  found 
a  road  running  southward,  and  after  passing  a 
scatterment  of  suburban  cabins  and  cottages  I 
reached  the  green  woods  and  spread  out  my 
pocket  map  to  rough-hew  a  plan  for  my  journey. 
My  plan  was  simply  to  push  on  in  a  general 
[  1  ] 


A  "Thousand- Mile  Walk 

southward  direction  by  the  wildest,  leafiest, 
and  least  trodden  way  I  could  find,  promising 
the  greatest  extent  of  virgin  forest.  Folding  my 
map,  I  shouldered  my  little  bag  and  plant 
press  and  strode  away  among  the  old  Ken- 
tucky oaks,  rejoicing  in  splendid  visions  of 
pines  and  palms  and  tropic  flowers  in  glorious 
array,  not,  however,  without  a  few  cold  shad- 
ows of  loneliness,  although  the  great  oaks 
seemed  to  spread  their  arms  in  welcome. 

I  have  seen  oaks  of  many  species  in  many 
kinds  of  exposure  and  soil,  but  those  of  Kentucky 
excel  in  grandeur  all  I  had  ever  before  beheld. 
They  are  broad  and  dense  and  bright  green.  In 
the  leafy  bowers  and  caves  of  their  long  branches 
dwell  magnificent  avenues  of  shade,  and  every 
tree  seems  to  be  blessed  with  a  double  portion 
of  strong  exulting  life.  Walked  twenty  miles, 
mostly  on  river  bottom,  and  found  shelter  in 
a  rickety  tavern. 

September  3.  Escaped  from  the  dust  and 
squalor  of  my  garret  bedroom  to  the  glorious 
forest.  All  the  streams  that  I  tasted  hereabouts 

[2] 


Kentucky  Forests  and  Caves 

are  salty  and  so  are  the  wells.  Salt  River  was 
nearly  dry.  Much  of  my  way  this  forenoon  was 
over  naked  limestone.  After  passing  the  level 
ground  that  extended  twenty-five  or  thirty 
miles  from  the  river  I  came  to  a  region  of  roll- 
ing hills  called  Kentucky  Knobs  —  hills  of  de- 
nudation, covered  with  trees  to  the  top.  Some 
of  them  have  a  few  pines.  For  a  few  hours  I 
followed  the  farmers'  paths,  but  soon  wan- 
dered away  from  roads  and  encountered  many 
a  tribe  of  twisted  vines  difficult  to  pass. 

Emerging  about  noon  from  a  grove  of  giant 
sunflowers,  I  found  myself  on  the  brink  of  a 
tumbling  rocky  stream  [Rolling  Fork].  I  did 
not  expect  to  find  bridges  on  my  wild  ways, 
and  at  once  started  to  ford,  when  a  negro 
woman  on  the  opposite  bank  earnestly  called 
on  me  to  wait  until  she  could  tell  the  "men 
folks"  to  bring  me  a  horse  —  that  the  river 
was  too  deep  and  rapid  to  wade  and  that  I 
would  "sartain  be  drowned"  if  I  attempted  to 
cross.  I  replied  that  my  bag  and  plants  would 
ballast  me ;  that  the  water  did  not  appear  to  be 
[3] 


A  'Thousand-Mile  TValk 

deep,  and  that  if  I  were  carried  away,  I  was  a 
good  swimmer  and  would  soon  dry  in  the  sun- 
shine. But  the  cautious  old  soul  replied  that  no 
one  ever  waded  that  river  and  set  off  for  a  horse, 
saying  that  it  was  no  trouble  at  all. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  ferry  horse  came  gin- 
gerly down  the  bank  through  vines  and  weeds. 
His  long  stilt  legs  proved  him  a  natural  wader. 
He  was  white  and  the  little  sable  negro  boy  that 
rode  him  looked  like  a  bug  on  his  back.  After 
many  a  tottering  halt  the  outward  voyage  was 
safely  made,  and  I  mounted  behind  little  Nig. 
He  was  a  queer  specimen,  puffy  and  jet  as  an 
India  rubber  doll  and  his  hair  was  matted  in  sec- 
tions like  the  wool  of  a  merino  sheep.  The  old 
horse,  overladen  with  his  black  and  white  bur- 
den, rocked  and  stumbled  on  his  stilt  legs  with 
fair  promises  of  a  fall.  But  all  ducking  signs 
failed  and  we  arrived  in  safety  among  the  weeds 
and  vines  of  the  rugged  bank.  A  salt  bath 
would  have  done  us  no  harm.  I  could  swim  and 
little  Afric  looked  as  if  he  might  float  like  a 
bladder. 

[4] 


Kentucky  Forests  and  Caves 

I  called  at  the  homestead  where  my  ferry- 
man informed  me  I  would  find  "tollable  "  water. 
But,  like  all  the  water  of  this  section  that  I 
have  tasted,  it  was  intolerable  with  salt.  Every- 
thing about  this  old  Kentucky  home  bespoke 
plenty,  unpolished  and  unmeasured.  The  house 
was  built  in  true  Southern  style,  airy,  large, 
and  with  a  transverse  central  hall  that  looks 
like  a  railway  tunnel,  and  heavy  rough  out- 
side chimneys.  The  negro  quarters  and  other 
buildings  are  enough  in  number  for  a  village, 
altogether  an  interesting  representative  of  a 
genuine  old  Kentucky  home,  embosomed  in 
orchards,  corn  fields  and  green  wooded  hills. 

Passed  gangs  of  woodmen  engaged  in  fell- 
ing and  hewing  the  grand  oaks  for  market. 
Fruit  very  abundant.  Magnificent  flowing  hill 
scenery  all  afternoon.  Walked  southeast  from 
Elizabethtown  till  wearied  and  lay  down  in  the 
bushes  by  guess. 

September  4.  The  sun  was  gilding  the  hill- 
tops when  I  was  awakened  by  the  alarm  notes 
of  birds  whose  dwelling  in  a  hazel  thicket  I  had 
[5] 


A  Thousand- Mile  TValk 

disturbed.  They  flitted  excitedly  close  to  my 
head,  as  if  scolding  or  asking  angry  questions, 
while  several  beautiful  plants,  strangers  to  me, 
were  looking  me  full  in  the  face.  The  first  bo- 
tanical discovery  in  bed !  This  was  one  of  the 
most  delightful  camp  grounds,  though  groped 
for  in  the  dark,  and  I  lingered  about  it  enjoying 
its  trees  and  soft  lights  and  music. 

Walked  ten  miles  of  forest.  Met  a  strange 
oak  with  willow-looking  leaves.  Entered  a 
sandy  stretch  of  black  oak  called  "Barrens,,, 
many  of  which  were  sixty  or  seventy  feet  in 
height,  and  are  said  to  have  grown  since  the 
fires  were  kept  off,  forty  years  ago.  The  farm- 
ers hereabouts  are  tall,  stout,  happy  fellows, 
fond  of  guns  and  horses.  Enjoyed  friendly 
chats  with  them.  Arrived  at  dark  in  a  village 
that  seemed  to  be  drawing  its  last  breath.  Was 
guided  to  the  "tavern"  by  a  negro  who  was  ex- 
tremely accommodating.  "  No  trouble  at  all," 
he  said. 

September  5.  No  bird  or  flower  or  friendly 
tree  above  me  this  morning;  only  squalid  garret 
[6] 


Kentucky  Forests  and  Caves 

rubbish  and  dust.  Escaped  to  the  woods.  Came 
to  the  region  of  caves.  At  the  mouth  of  the  first 
I  discovered,  I  was  surprised  to  find  ferns  which 
belonged  to  the  coolest  nooks  of  Wisconsin  and 
northward,  but  soon  observed  that  each  cave 
rim  has  a  zone  of  climate  peculiar  to  itself,  and 
it  is  always  cool.  This  cave  had  an  opening 
about  ten  feet  in  diameter,  and  twenty-five 
feet  perpendicular  depth.  A  strong  cold  wind 
issued  from  it  and  I  could  hear  the  sounds  of 
running  water.  A  long  pole  was  set  against  its 
walls  as  if  intended  for  a  ladder,  but  in  some 
places  it  was  slippery  and  smooth  as  a  mast  and 
would  test  the  climbing  powers  of  a  monkey. 
The  walls  and  rim  of  this  natural  reservoir  were 
finely  carved  and  flowered.  Bushes  leaned  over 
it  with  shading  leaves,  and  beautiful  ferns  and 
mosses  were  in  rows  and  sheets  on  its  slopes 
and  shelves.  Lingered  here  a  long  happy  while, 
pressing  specimens  and  printing  this  beauty 
into  memory. 

Arrived  about  noon  at  Munfordville ;  was 
soon  discovered  and  examined  by  Mr.  Mun- 
[7l 


A  Thousand-Mile  JValk 

ford  himself,  a  pioneer  and  father  of  the  village. 
He  is  a  surveyor  —  has  held  all  country  offices, 
and  every  seeker  of  roads  and  lands  applies  to 
him  for  information.  He  regards  all  the  vil- 
lagers as  his  children,  and  all  strangers  who  en- 
ter Munfordville  as  his  own  visitors.  Of  course 
he  inquired  my  business,  destination,  et  cetera, 
and  invited  me  to  his  house. 

After  refreshing  me  with  "parrs"  he  compla- 
cently covered  the  table  with  bits  of  rocks, 
plants,  et  cetera,  things  new  and  old  which  he 
had  gathered  in  his  surveying  walks  and  sup- 
posed to  be  full  of  scientific  interest.  He  in- 
formed me  that  all  scientific  men  applied  to  him 
for  information,  and  as  I  was  a  botanist,  he 
either  possessed,  or  ought  to  possess,  the  knowl- 
edge I  was  seeking,  and  so  I  received  long 
lessons  concerning  roots  and  herbs  for  every 
mortal  ill.  Thanking  my  benefactor  for  his 
kindness,  I  escaped  to  the  fields  and  followed  a 
railroad  along  the  base  of  a  grand  hill  ridge.  As 
evening  came  on  all  the  dwellings  I  found  seemed 
to  repel  me,  and  I  could  not  muster  courage 
[8  ] 


Kentucky  Forests  and  Caves 

enough  to  ask  entertainment  at  any  of  them. 
Took  refuge  in  a  log  schoolhouse  that  stood  on 
a  hillside  beneath  stately  oaks  and  slept  on  the 
softest  looking  of  the  benches. 

September  6.  Started  at  the  earliest  bird  song 
in  hopes  of  seeing  the  great  Mammoth  Cave 
before  evening.  Overtook  an  old  negro  driving 
an  ox  team.  Rode  with  him  a  few  miles  and 
had  some  interesting  chat  concerning  war,  wild 
fruits  of  the  woods,  et  cetera.  "Right  heah,,, 
said  he,  "is  where  the  Rebs  was  a-tearin'  up  the 
track,  and  they  all  a  sudden  thought  they  seed 
the  Yankees  a-comin',  obah  dem  big  hills  dar, 
and  Lo'd,  how  dey  run."  I  asked  him  if  he 
would  like  a  renewal  of  these  sad  war  times, 
when  his  flexible  face  suddenly  calmed,  and  he 
said  with  intense  earnestness,  "Oh,  Lo'd,  want 
no  mo  wa,  Lo'd  no."  Many  of  these  Kentucky 
negroes  are  shrewd  and  intelligent,  and  when 
warmed  upon  a  subject  that  interests  them,  are 
eloquent  in  no  mean  degree. 

Arrived  at  Horse  Cave,  about  ten  miles  from 
the  great  cave.  The  entrance  is  by  a  long  easy 
[9] 


A  Thousand- Mile  TValk 

slope  of  several  hundred  yards.  It  seems  like 
a  noble  gateway  to  the  birthplace  of  springs 
and  fountains  and  the  dark  treasuries  of  the 
mineral  kingdom.  This  cave  is  in  a  village 
[of  the  same  name]  which  it  supplies  with  an 
abundance  of  cold  water,  and  cold  air  that 
issues  from  its  fern-clad  lips.  In  hot  weather 
crowds  of  people  sit  about  it  in  the  shade  of 
the  trees  that  guard  it.  This  magnificent  fan 
is  capable  of  cooling  everybody  in  the  town  at 
once. 

Those  who  live  near  lofty  mountains  may 
climb  to  cool  weather  in  a  day  or  two,  but  the 
overheated  Kentuckians  can  find  a  patch  of  cool 
climate  in  almost  every  glen  in  the  State.  The 
villager  who  accompanied  me  said  that  Horse 
Cave  had  never  been  fully  explored,  but  that  it 
was  several  miles  in  length  at  least.  He  told  me 
that  he  had  never  been  at  Mammoth  Cave  — 
that  it  was  not  worth  going  ten  miles  to  see,  as 
it  was  nothing  but  a  hole  in  the  ground,  and  I 
found  that  his  was  no  rare  case.  He  was  one 
of  the  useful,  practical  men  —  too  wise  to  waste 
[  io  1 


Kentucky  Forests  and  Caves 

precious  time  with  weeds,  caves,  fossils,  or  any- 
thing else  that  he  could  not  eat. 
1  Arrived  at  the  great  Mammoth  Cave.  I  was 
surprised  to  find  it  in  so  complete  naturalness. 
A  large  hotel  with  fine  walks  and  gardens  is 
near  it.  But  fortunately  the  cave  has  been  un- 
improved, and  were  it  not  for  the  narrow  trail 
that  leads  down  the  glen  to  its  door,  one  would 
not  know  that  it  had  been  visited.  There  are 
house-rooms  and  halls  whose  entrances  give 
but  slight  hint  of  their  grandeur.  And  so  also 
this  magnificent  hall  in  the  mineral  kingdom  of 
Kentucky  has  a  door  comparatively  small  and 
unpromising.  One  might  pass  within  a  few 
yards  of  it  without  noticing  it.  A  strong  cool 
breeze  issues  constantly  from  it,  creating  a 
northern  climate  for  the  ferns  that  adorn  its 
rocky  front. 

I  never  before  saw  Nature's  grandeur  in  so 
abrupt  contrast  with  paltry  artificial  gardens. 
The  fashionable  hotel  grounds  are  in  exact 
parlor  taste,  with  many  a  beautiful  plant  cul- 
tivated to  deformity,  and  arranged  in  strict 
[ii] 


A  "Thousand- Mile  Walk 

geometrical  beds,  the  whole  pretty  affair  a 
laborious  failure  side  by  side  with  Divine 
beauty.  The  trees  around  the  mouth  of  the 
cave  are  smooth  and  tall  and  bent  forward 
at  the  bottom,  then  straight  upwards.  Only 
a  butternut  seems,  by  its  angular  knotty 
branches,  to  sympathize  with  and  belong  to 
the  cave,  with  a  fine  growth  of  Cystopteris 
and  Hypnum. 

Started  for  Glasgow  Junction.  Got  belated 
in  the  hill  woods.  Inquired  my  way  at  a  farm- 
house and  was  invited  to  stay  overnight  in  a 
rare,  hearty,  hospitable  manner.  Engaged  in 
familiar  running  talk  on  politics,  war  times,  and 
theology.  The  old  Kentuckian  seemed  to  take 
a  liking  to  me  and  advised  me  to  stay  in  these 
hills  until  next  spring,  assuring  me  that  I  would 
find  much  to  interest  me  in  and  about  the  Great 
Cave;  also,  that  he  was  one  of  the  school  offi- 
cials and  was  sure  that  I  could  obtain  their 
school  for  the  winter  term.  I  sincerely  thanked 
him  for  his  kind  plans,  but  pursued  my  own. 

September  7.  Left  the  hospitable  Kentuck- 
[  12  1 


ENTRANCE   TO   MAMMOTH   CAVE 


Kentucky  Forests  and  Caves 

ians  with  their  sincere  good  wishes  and  bore 
away  southward  again  through  the  deep  green 
woods.  In  noble  forests  all  day.  Saw  mistletoe 
for  the  first  time.  Part  of  the  day  I  traveled 
with  a  Kentuckian  from  near  Burkesville.  He 
spoke  to  all  the  negroes  he  met  with  familiar 
kindly  greetings,  addressing  them  always  as 
"Uncles"  and  "Aunts."  All  travelers  one  meets 
on  these  roads,  white  and  black,  male  and 
female,  travel  on  horseback.  Glasgow  is  one 
of  the  few  Southern  towns  that  shows  ordinary 
American  life.  At  night  with  a  well-to-do 
farmer. 

September  8.  Deep,  green,  bossy  sea  of  wav- 
ing, flowing  hilltops.  Corn  and  cotton  and  to- 
bacco fields  scattered  here  and  there.  I  had 
imagined  that  a  cotton  field  in  flower  was 
something  magnificent.  But  cotton  is  a  coarse, 
rough,  straggling,  unhappy  looking  plant,  not 
half  as  good-looking  as  a  field  of  Irish  potatoes. 

Met  a  great  many  negroes  going  to  meeting, 
dressed  in  their  Sunday  best.  Fat,  happy  look- 
ing, and  contented.  The  scenery  on  approaching 
[  13  1 


A  "Thousand-Mile  Walk 

the  Cumberland  River  becomes  still  grander. 
Burkesville,  in  beautiful  location,  is  embosomed 
in  a  glorious  array  of  verdant  flowing  hills.  The 
Cumberland  must  be  a  happy  stream.  I  think 
I  could  enjoy  traveling  with  it  in  the  midst  of 
such  beauty  all  my  life.  This  evening  I  could 
find  none  willing  to  take  me  in,  and  so  lay  down 
on  a  hillside  and  fell  asleep  muttering  praises 
to  the  happy  abounding  beauty  of  Kentucky. 

September  g.  Another  day  in  the  most  fa- 
vored province  of  bird  and  flower.  Many  rapid 
streams,  flowing  in  beautiful  flower-bordered 
canons  embosomed  in  dense  woods.  Am  seated 
on  a  grand  hill-slope  that  leans  back  against 
the  sky  like  a  picture.  Amid  the  wide  waves 
of  green  wood  there  are  spots  of  autumnal 
yellow  and  the  atmosphere,  too,  has  the  dawn- 
ings  of  autumn  in  colors  and  sounds.  The  soft 
light  of  morning  falls  upon  ripening  forests  of 
oak  and  elm,  walnut  and  hickory,  and  all  Na- 
ture is  thoughtful  and  calm.  Kentucky  is  the 
greenest,  leafiest  State  I  have  yet  seen.  The 
sea  of  soft  temperate  plant-green  is  deepest  here. 
[  14  1 


Kentucky  Forests  and  Caves 

Comparing  volumes  of  vegetable  verdure  in 
different  countries  to  a  wedge,  the  thick  end 
would  be  in  the  forests  of  Kentucky,  the  other 
in  the  lichens  and  mosses  of  the  North.  This 
verdure  wedge  would  not  be  perfect  in  its  lines. 
From  Kentucky  it  would  maintain  its  thickness 
long  and  well  in  passing  the  level  forests  of 
Indiana  and  Canada.  From  the  maples  and 
pines  of  Canada  it  would  slope  rapidly  to  the 
bleak  Arctic  hills  with  dwarf  birches  and  alders ; 
thence  it  would  thin  out  in  a  long  edge  among 
hardy  lichens  and  liverworts  and  mosses  to 
the  dwelling-places  of  everlasting  frost.  Far  the 
grandest  of  all  Kentucky  plants  are  her  noble 
oaks.  They  are  the  master  existences  of  her 
exuberant  forests.  Here  is  the  Eden,  the  para- 
dise of  oaks.  Passed  the  Kentucky  line  towards 
evening  and  obtained  food  and  shelter  from  a 
thrifty  Tennessee  farmer,  after  he  had  made 
use  of  all  the  ordinary  anti-hospitable  argu- 
ments of  cautious  comfortable  families. 

September  10.  Escaped  from  a  heap  of  un- 
cordial  kindness  to  the  generous  bosom  of  the 
I  15] 


A  Thousand-Mile  VTalk 

woods.  After  a  few  miles  of  level  ground  in 
luxuriant  tangles  of  brooding  vines,  I  began  the 
ascent  of  the  Cumberland  Mountains,  the  first 
real  mountains  that  my  foot  ever  touched  or 
eyes  beheld.  The  ascent  was  by  a  nearly  regu- 
lar zigzag  slope,  mostly  covered  up  like  a  tun- 
nel by  overarching  oaks.  But  there  were  a  few 
openings  where  the  glorious  forest  road  of  Ken- 
tucky was  grandly  seen,  stretching  over  hill 
and  valley,  adjusted  to  every  slope  and  curve 
by  the  hands  of  Nature  —  the  most  sublime 
and  comprehensive  picture  that  ever  entered 
my  eyes.  Reached  the  summit  in  six  or  seven 
hours  —  a  strangely  long  period  of  up-grade 
work  to  one  accustomed  only  to  the  hillocky 
levels  of  Wisconsin  and  adjacent  States. 


CHAPTER  II 

CROSSING  THE   CUMBERLAND  MOUNTAINS 

I  HAD  climbed  but  a  short  distance  when 
I  was  overtaken  by  a  young  man  on  horse- 
back, who  soon  showed  that  he  intended  to 
rob  me  if  he  should  find  the  job  worth  while. 
After  he  had  inquired  where  I  came  from,  and 
where  I  was  going,  he  offered  to  carry  my  bag. 
I  told  him  that  it  was  so  light  that  I  did  not 
feel  it  at  all  a  burden ;  but  he  insisted  and  coaxed 
until  I  allowed  him  to  carry  it.  As  soon  as  he 
had  gained  possession  I  noticed  that  he  gradu- 
ally increased  his  speed,  evidently  trying  to  get 
far  enough  ahead  of  me  to  examine  the  con- 
tents without  being  observed.  But  I  was  too 
good  a  walker  and  runner  for  him  to  get  far. 
At  a  turn  of  the  road,  after  trotting  his  horse 
for  about  half  an  hour,  and  when  he  thought  he 
was  out  of  sight,  I  caught  him  rummaging  my 
poor  bag.  Finding  there  only  a  comb,  brush, 
towel,  soap,  a  change  of  underclothing,  a  copy 
[  i7  1 


A  Thousand-Mile  TValk 

of  Burns's  poems,  Milton's  Paradise  Lost,  and 
a  small  New  Testament,  he  waited  for  me, 
handed  back  my  bag,  and  returned  down  the 
hill,  saying  that  he  had  forgotten  something. 

I  found  splendid  growths  of  shining-leaved 
Ericacece  [heathworts]  for  which  the  Alleghany 
Mountains  are  noted.  Also  ferns  of  which  Os- 
munda  cinnamomea  [Cinnamon  Fern]  is  the 
largest  and  perhaps  the  most  abundant.  Os- 
munda  regalis  [Flowering  Fern]  is  also  common 
here,  but  not  large.  In  Wood's  *  and  Gray's 
Botany  Osmunda  cinnamomea  is  said  to  be  a 
much  larger  fern  than  Osmunda  claytoniana. 
This  I  found  to  be  true  in  Tennessee  and 
southward,  but  in  Indiana,  part  of  Illinois,  and 
Wisconsin  the  opposite  is  true.  Found  here 
the  beautiful,  sensitive  Schrankia,  or  sensitive 
brier.  It  is  a  long,  prickly,  leguminous  vine, 
with  dense  heads  of  small,  yellow  fragrant 
flowers. 

1  Alphonso  Wood,  Class-book  of  Botany,  with  a  Flora  of 
the  United  States  and  Canada.  The  copy  of  this  work,  carried 
by  Mr.  Muir  on  his  wanderings,  is  still  extant.  The  edition 
is  that  of  1862. 

[  18] 


The  Cumberland  Mountains 

Vines  growing  on  roadsides  receive  many  a 
tormenting  blow,  simply  because  they  give  evi- 
dence of  feeling.  Sensitive  people  are  served 
in  the  same  way.  But  the  roadside  vine  soon 
becomes  less  sensitive,  like  people  getting  used 
to  teasing — Nature,  in  this  instance,  making  for 
the  comfort  of  flower  creatures  the  same  benev- 
olent arrangement  as  for  man.  Thus  I  found 
that  the  Schrankia  vines  growing  along  foot- 
paths leading  to  a  backwoods  schoolhouse  were 
much  less  sensitive  than  those  in  the  adjacent 
unfrequented  woods,  having  learned  to  pay  but 
slight  attention  to  the  tingling  strokes  they 
get  from  teasing  scholars. 

It  is  startling  to  see  the  pairs  of  pinnate 
leaves  rising  quickly  out  of  the  grass  and  fold- 
ing themselves  close  in  regular  succession  from 
the  root  to  the  end  of  the  prostrate  stems,  ten 
to  twenty  feet  in  length.  How  little  we  know  as 
yet  of  the  life  of  plants  —  their  hopes  and  fears, 
pains  and  enjoyments! 

Traveled  a  few  miles  with  an  old  Tennessee 
farmer  who  was  much  excited  on  account  of  the 
[19] 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 

news  he  had  just  heard.  "Three  kingdoms, 
England,  Ireland,  and  Russia,  have  declared 
war  agin  the  United  States.  Oh,  it's  terrible, 
terrible,"  said  he.  "This  big  war  comin,  so 
quick,  after  our  own  big  fight.  Well,  it  can't  be 
helped,  and  all  I  have  to  say  is,  Amerricay  for- 
ever, but  I  'd  a  heap  rather  they  did  n't  fight." 

"But  are  you  sure  the  news  is  true?"  I  in- 
quired. "Oh,  yes,  quite  sure,"  he  replied,  "for 
me  and  some  of  my  neighbors  were  down  at  the 
store  last  night,  and  Jim  Smith  can  read,  and 
he  found  out  all  about  it  in  a  newspaper." 

Passed  the  poor,  rickety,  thrice-dead  village 
of  Jamestown,  an  incredibly  dreary  place. 
Toward  the  top  of  the  Cumberland  grade,  about 
two  hours  before  sundown  I  came  to  a  log  house, 
and  as  I  had  been  warned  that  all  the  broad 
plateau  of  the  range  for  forty  or  fifty  miles  was 
desolate,  I  began  thus  early  to  seek  a  lodging 
for  the  night.  Knocking  at  the  door,  a  motherly 
old  lady  replied  to  my  request  for  supper  and 
bed  and  breakfast,  that  I  was  welcome  to  the 
best  she  had,  provided  that  I  had  the  necessary 

[20] 


"The  Cumberland  Mountains 

change  to  pay  my  bill.  When  I  told  her  that  un- 
fortunately I  had  nothing  smaller  than  a  five- 
dollar  greenback,  she  said,  "Well,  I'm  sorry, 
but  cannot  afford  to  keep  you.  Not  long  ago 
ten  soldiers  came  across  from  North  Carolina, 
and  in  the  morning  they  offered  a  greenback 
that  I  could  n't  change,  and  so  I  got  nothing  for 
keeping  them,  which  I  was  ill  able  to  afford." 
"Very  well,"  I  said,  "I'm  glad  you  spoke  of 
this  beforehand,  for  I  would  rather  go  hungry 
than  impose  on  your  hospitality." 

As  I  turned  to  leave,  after  bidding  her  good- 
bye, she,  evidently  pitying  me  for  my  tired 
looks,  called  me  back  and  asked  me  if  I  would 
like  a  drink  of  milk.  This  I  gladly  accepted, 
thinking  that  perhaps  I  might  not  be  success- 
ful in  getting  any  other  nourishment  for  a  day 
or  two.  Then  I  inquired  whether  there  were  any 
more  houses  on  the  road,  nearer  than  North 
Carolina,  forty  or  fifty  miles  away.  "Yes," 
she  said,  "it's  only  two  miles  to  the  next 
house,  but  beyond  that  there  are  no  houses 
that  I  know  of  except  empty  ones  whose  own- 
[21  ] 


A  Thousand-Mile  TValk 

ers  have  been  killed  or  driven  away  during  the 
war." 

Arriving  at  the  last  house,  my  knock  at  the 
door  was  answered  by  a  bright,  good-natured, 
good-looking  little  woman,  who  in  reply  to  my 
request  for  a  night's  lodging  and  food,  said, "  Oh, 
I  guess  so.  I  think  you  can  stay.  Come  in  and 
I'll  call  my  husband."  "But  I  must  first  warn 
you,"  I  said,  "that  I  have  nothing  smaller  to 
offer  you  than  a  five-dollar  bill  for  my  enter- 
tainment. I  don't  want  you  to  think  that  I  am 
trying  to  impose  on  your  hospitality." 

She  then  called  her  husband,  a  blacksmith, 
who  was  at  work  at  his  forge.  He  came  out, 
hammer  in  hand,  bare-breasted,  sweaty,  be- 
grimed, and  covered  with  shaggy  black  hair. 
In  reply  to  his  wife's  statement,  that  this  young 
man  wished  to  stop  over  night,  he  quickly  re- 
plied, "That's  all  right;  tell  him  to  go  into  the 
house."  He  was  turning  to  go  back  to  his  shop, 
when  his  wife  added,  "  But  he  says  he  has  n't 
any  change  to  pay.  He  has  nothing  smaller 
than  a  five-dollar  bill."  Hesitating  only  a  mo- 

[22] 


The  Cumberland  Mountains 

ment,  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  said,  "Tell  him 
to  go  into  the  house.  A  man  that  comes  right 
out  like  that  beforehand  is  welcome  to  eat  my 
bread." 

When  he  came  in  after  his  hard  day's  work 
and  sat  down  to  dinner,  he  solemnly  asked  a 
blessing  on  the  frugal  meal,  consisting  solely  of 
corn  bread  and  bacon.  Then,  looking  across  the 
table  at  me,  he  said,  "Young  man,  what  are 
you  doing  down  here?"  I  replied  that  I  was 
looking  at  plants.  "Plants?  What  kind  of 
plants?"  I  said,  "Oh,  all  kinds;  grass,  weeds, 
flowers,  trees,  mosses,  ferns,  —  almost  every- 
thing that  grows  is  interesting  to  me." 

"Well,  young  man,"  he  queried,  "you  mean 
to  say  that  you  are  not  employed  by  the  Gov- 
ernment on  some  private  business?"  "No,"  I 
said,  "I  am  not  employed  by  any  one  except 
just  myself.  I  love  all  kinds  of  plants,  and  I 
came  down  here  to  these  Southern  States  to  get 
acquainted  with  as  many  of  them  as  possible." 

"You  look  like  a  strong-minded  man,"  he  re- 
plied, "and  surely  you  are  able  to  do  something 
[23  1 


A  "Thousand- Mile  TValk 

better  than  wander  over  the  country  and  look 
at  weeds  and  blossoms.  These  are  hard  times, 
and  real  work  is  required  of  every  man  that  is 
able.  Picking  up  blossoms  does  n't  seem  to  be 
a  man's  work  at  all  in  any  kind  of  times." 

To  this  I  replied,  "You  are  a  believer  in  the 
Bible,  are  you  not?"  "Oh,  yes."  "Well,  you 
know  Solomon  was  a  strong-minded  man,  and 
he  is  generally  believed  to  have  been  the  very 
wisest  man  the  world  ever  saw,  and  yet  he  con- 
sidered it  was  worth  while  to  study  plants; 
not  only  to  go  and  pick  them  up  as  I  am  doing, 
but  to  study  them ;  and  you  know  we  are  told 
that  he  wrote  a  book  about  plants,  not  only  of 
the  great  cedars  of  Lebanon,  but  of  little  bits  of 
things  growing  in  the  cracks  of  the  walls." 1 

"Therefore,  you  see  that  Solomon  differed 
very  much  more  from  you  than  from  me  in  this 
matter.  I  '11  warrant  you  he  had  many  a  long 
ramble  in  the  mountains  of  Judea,  and  had  he 

1  The  previously  mentioned  copy  of  Wood's  Botany,  used 
by  John  Muir,  quotes  on  the  title  page  I  Kings  iv,  33:  "He 
spake  of  trees,  from  the  cedar  of  Lebanon  even  unto  the 
hyssop  that  springeth  out  of  the  wall." 

[24] 


The  Cumberland  Mountains 

been  a  Yankee  he  would  likely  have  visited  every 
weed  in  the  land.  And  again,  do  you  not  remem- 
ber that  Christ  told  his  disciples  to  'consider 
the  lilies  how  they  grow/  and  compared  their 
beauty  with  Solomon  in  all  his  glory?  Now, 
whose  advice  am  I  to  take,  yours  or  Christ's? 
Christ  says,  'Consider  the  lilies/  You  say, 
'Don't  consider  them.  It  is  n't  worth  while  for 
any  strong-minded  man/  " 

This  evidently  satisfied  him,  and  he  acknowl- 
edged that  he  had  never  thought  of  blossoms 
in  that  way  before.  He  repeated  again  and 
again  that  I  must  be  a  very  strong-minded  man, 
and  admitted  that  no  doubt  I  was  fully  justified 
in  picking  up  blossoms.  He  then  told  me  that 
although  the  war  was  over,  walking  across  the 
Cumberland  Mountains  still  was  far  from  safe 
on  account  of  small  bands  of  guerrillas  who  were 
in  hiding  along  the  roads,  and  earnestly  entreated 
me  to  turn  back  and  not  to  think  of  walking  so 
far  as  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  until  the  country  be- 
came quiet  and  orderly  once  more. 

I  replied  that  I  had  no  fear,  that  I  had  but 

[25  ] 


A  'Thousand- Mile  IValk 

very  little  to  lose,  and  that  nobody  was  likely  to 
think  it  worth  while  to  rob  me ;  that,  anyhow, 
I  always  had  good  luck.  In  the  morning  he 
repeated  the  warning  and  entreated  me  to  turn 
back,  which  never  for  a  moment  interfered  with 
my  resolution  to  pursue  my  glorious  walk. 

September  II.  Long  stretch  of  level  sand- 
stone plateau,  lightly  furrowed  and  dimpled 
with  shallow  groove-like  valleys  and  hills.  The 
trees  are  mostly  oaks,  planted  wide  apart  like 
those  in  the  Wisconsin  woods.  A  good  many 
pine  trees  here  and  there,  forty  to  eighty  feet 
high,  and  most  of  the  ground  is  covered  with 
showy  flowers.  Polygalas  [milkworts],  solida- 
goes  [goldenrods],  and  asters  were  especially 
abundant.  I  came  to  a  cool  clear  brook  every 
half  mile  or  so,  the^banks  planted  with  Os- 
munda  regalis,  Osmunda  cinnamomea,  and  hand- 
some sedges.  The  few  larger  streams  were 
fringed  with  laurels  and  azaleas.  Large  areas 
beneath  the  trees  are  covered  with  formidable 
green  briers  and  brambles,  armed  with  hooked 
claws,  and  almost  impenetrable.  Houses  are 
[26] 


"The  Cumberland  Mountains 

far  apart  and  uninhabited,  orchards  and  fences 
in  ruins  —  sad  marks  of  war. 

About  noon  my  road  became  dim  and  at 
last  vanished  among  desolate  fields.  Lost  and 
hungry,  I  knew  my  direction  but  could  not  keep 
it  on  account  of  the  briers.  My  path  was  indeed 
strewn  with  flowers,  but  as  thorny,  also,  as  mor- 
tal ever  trod.  In  trying  to  force  a  way  through 
these  cat-plants  one  is  not  simply  clawed  and 
pricked  through  all  one's  clothing,  but  caught 
and  held  fast.  The  toothed  arching  branches 
come  down  over  and  above  you  like  cruel  liv- 
ing arms,  and  the  more  you  struggle  the  more 
desperately  you  are  entangled,  and  your 
wounds  deepened  and  multiplied.  The  South 
has  plant  fly-catchers.  It  also  has  plant  man- 
catchers. 

After  a  great  deal  of  defensive  fighting  and 
struggling  I  escaped  to  a  road  and  a  house,  but 
failed  to  find  food  or  shelter.  Towards  sun- 
down, as  I  was  walking  rapidly  along  a  straight 
stretch  in  the  road,  I  suddenly  came  in  sight  of 
ten  mounted  men  riding  abreast.  They  un- 
[27] 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 

doubtedly  had  seen  me  before  I  discovered 
them,  for  they  had  stopped  their  horses  and 
were  evidently  watching  me.  I  saw  at  once  that 
it  was  useless  to  attempt  to  avoid  them,  for 
the  ground  thereabout  was  quite  open.  I  knew 
that  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  face  them 
fearlessly,  without  showing  the  slightest  sus- 
picion of  foul  play.  Therefore,  without  halting 
even  for  a  moment,  I  advanced  rapidly  with 
long  strides  as  though  I  intended  to  walk  through 
the  midst  of  them.  When  I  got  within  a  rod  or 
so  I  looked  up  in  their  faces  and  smilingly  bade 
them  "Howdy."  Stopping  never  an  instant,  I 
turned  to  one  side  and  walked  around  them  to 
get  on  the  road  again,  and  kept  on  without  ven- 
turing to  look  back  or  to  betray  the  slightest 
fear  of  being  robbed. 

After  I  had  gone  about  one  hundred  or  one 
hundred  and  fifty  yards,  I  ventured  a  quick 
glance  back,  without  stopping,  and  saw  in  this 
flash  of  an  eye  that  all  the  ten  had  turned  their 
horses  toward  me  and  were  evidently  talking 
about  me;  supposedly,  with  reference  to  what 
[28] 


"The  Cumberland  Mountains 

my  object  was,  where  I  was  going,  and  whether 
it  would  be  worth  while  to  rob  me.  They  all 
were  mounted  on  rather  scrawny  horses,  and  all 
wore  long  hair  hanging  down  on  their  shoulders. 
Evidently  they  belonged  to  the  most  irreclaim- 
able of  the  guerrilla  bands  who,  long  accus- 
tomed to  plunder,  deplored  the  coming  of  peace. 
I  was  not  followed,  however,  probably  because 
the  plants  projecting  from  my  plant  press  made 
them  believe  that  I  was  a  poor  herb  doctor,  a 
common  occupation Jn  these  mountain  regions. 
About  dark  I  discovered,  a  little  off  the  road, 
another  house,  inhabited  by  negroes,  where  I 
succeeded  in  obtaining  a  much  needed  meal 
of  string  beans,  buttermilk,  and  corn  bread.  At 
the  table  I  was  seated  in  a  bottomless  chair, 
and  as  I  became  sore  and  heavy,  I  sank  deeper 
and  deeper,  pressing  my  knees  against  my 
breast,  and  my  mouth  settled  to  the  level  of  my 
plate.  But  wild  hunger  cares  for  none  of  these 
things,  and  my  curiously  compressed  position 
prevented  the  too  free  indulgence  of  boisterous 
appetite.  Of  course,  I  was  compelled  to  sleep 
[29] 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

with  the  trees  in  the  one  great  bedroom  of  the 
open  night. 

September  12.  Awoke  drenched  with  moun- 
tain mist,  which  made  a  grand  show,  as  it 
moved  away  before  the  hot  sun.  Passed  Mont- 
gomery, a  shabby  village  at  the  head  of  the 
east  slope  of  the  Cumberland  Mountains.  Ob- 
tained breakfast  in  a  clean  house  and  began  the 
descent  of  the  mountains.  Obtained  fine  views 
of  a  wide,  open  country,  and  distant  flanking 
ridges  and  spurs.  Crossed  a  wide  cool  stream 
[Emory  River],  a  branch  of  the  Clinch  River. 
There  is  nothing  more  eloquent  in  Nature  than 
a  mountain  stream,  and  this  is  the  first  I  ever 
saw.  Its  banks  are  luxuriantly  peopled  with 
rare  and  lovely  flowers  and  overarching  trees, 
making  one  of  Nature's  coolest  and  most  hos- 
pitable places.  Every  tree,  every  flower,  every 
ripple  and  eddy  of  this  lovely  stream  seemed 
solemnly  to  feel  the  presence  of  the  great  Cre- 
ator. Lingered  in  this  sanctuary  a  long  time 
thanking  the  Lord  with  all  my  heart  for  his 
goodness  in  allowing  me  to  enter  and  enjoy  it. 
[30] 


77?e  Cumberland  Mountains 

Discovered  two  ferns,  Dicksonia  and  a  small 
matted  polypod  on  trees,  common  farther 
South.  Also  a  species  of  magnolia  with  very- 
large  leaves  and  scarlet  conical  fruit.  Near  this 
stream  I  spent  some  joyous  time  in  a  grand 
rock-dwelling  full  of  mosses,  birds,  and  flowers. 
Most  heavenly  place  I  ever  entered.  The  long 
narrow  valleys  of  the  mountainside,  all  well 
watered  and  nobly  adorned  with  oaks,  magno- 
lias, laurels,  azaleas,  asters,  ferns,  Hypnum 
mosses,  Madotheca  [Scale-mosses],  etc.  Also 
towering  clumps  of  beautiful  hemlocks.  The 
hemlock,  judging  from  the  common  species  of 
Canada,  I  regarded  as  the  least  noble  of  the 
conifers.  But  those  of  the  eastern  valleys  of  the 
Cumberland  Mountains  are  as  perfect  in  form 
and  regal  in  port  as  the  pines  themselves.  The 
latter  abundant.  Obtained  fine  glimpses  from 
open  places  as  I  descended  to  the  great  valley 
between  these  mountains  and  the  Unaka  Moun- 
tains on  the  state  line.  Forded  the  Clinch,  a 
beautiful  clear  stream,  that  knows  many  of  the 
dearest  mountain  retreats  that  ever  heard  the 
[31  1 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

music  of  running  water.  Reached  Kingston 
before  dark.  Sent  back  my  plant  collections  by 
express  to  my  brother  in  Wisconsin. 

September  jj.  Walked  all  day  across  small 
parallel  valleys  that  flute  the  surface  of  the  one 
wide  valley.  These  flutings  appear  to  have 
been  formed  by  lateral  pressure,  are  fertile,  and 
contain  some  fine  forms,  though  the  seal  of  war 
is  on  all  things.  The  roads  never  seem  to  pro- 
ceed with  any  fixed  purpose,  but  wander  as  if 
lost.  In  seeking  the  way  to  Philadelphia  [in 
Loudon  County,  Tennessee],  I  was  told  by  a 
buxom  Tennessee  "gal"  that  over  the  hills  was 
much  the  nearer  way,  that  she  always  went  that 
way,  and  that  surely  I  could  travel  it. 

I  started  over  the  flint-ridges,  but  soon 
reached  a  set  of  enchanted  little  valleys  among 
which,  no  matter  how  or  in  what  direction  I 
traveled,  I  could  not  get  a  foot  nearer  to  Phila- 
delphia. At  last,  consulting  my  map  and  com- 
pass, I  neglected  all  directions  and  finally 
reached  the  house  of  a  negro  driver,  with  whom 
I  put  up  for  the  night.  Received  a  good  deal  of 
[32] 


The  Cumberland  Mountains 

knowledge  which  may  be  of  use  should  I  ever 
be  a  negro  teamster. 

September  14.  Philadelphia  is  a  very  filthy 
village  in  a  beautiful  situation.  More  or  less  of 
pine.  Black  oak  most  abundant.  Poly  podium 
hexagonopterum  and  Aspidium  acrostichoides 
[Christmas  Fern]  most  abundant  of  ferns  and 
most  generally  distributed.  Osmunda  claytoni- 
ana  rare,  not  in  fruit,  small.  Dicksonia  abun- 
dant, after  leaving  the  Cumberland  Mountains. 
Asplenium  ebeneum  [Ebony  Spleenwort]  quite 
common  in  Tennessee  and  many  parts  of  Ken- 
tucky. Cystopteris  [Bladder  Fern],  and  Asplen- 
ium filix-fcemina  not  common  through  the  same 
range.  Pteris  aquilina  [Common  Brake]  abun- 
dant, but  small. 

Walked  through  many  a  leafy  valley,  shady 
grove,  and  cool  brooklet.  Reached  Madison- 
ville,  a  brisk  village.  Came  in  full  view  of  the 
Unaka  Mountains,  a  magnificent  sight.  Stayed 
over  night  with  a  pleasant  young  farmer. 

September  1$.  Most  glorious  billowy  moun- 
tain scenery.  Made  many  a  halt  at  open  places 
.133  ] 


A  'Thousand-Mile  TValk 

to  take  breath  and  to  admire.  The  road,  in 
many  places  cut  into  the  rock,  goes  winding 
about  among  the  knobs  and  gorges.  Dense 
growth  of  asters,  liatris,1  and  grapevines. 

Reached  a  house  before  night,  and  asked 
leave  to  stop.  "Well,  you're  welcome  to  stop," 
said  the  mountaineer,  "if  you  think  you  can 
live  till  morning  on  what  I  have  to  live  on  all 
the  time."  Found  the  old  gentleman  very  com- 
municative. Was  favored  with  long  "bar" 
stories,  deer  hunts,  etc.,  and  in  the  morning 
was  pressed  to  stay  a  day  or  two. 

September  16.  "I  will  take  you,"  said  he, 
"to  the  highest  ridge  in  the  country,  where 
you  can  see  both  ways.  You  will  have  a  view 
of  all  the  world  on  one  side  of  the  mountains 
and  all  creation  on  the  other.  Besides,  you, 
who  are  traveling  for  curiosity  and  wonder, 

1  Wood's  Botany,  edition  of  1862,  furnishes  the  following 
interesting  comment  on  Liatris  odoratissima  (Willd.),  popu- 
larly known  as  Vanilla  Plant  or  Deer's  Tongue:  "The  fleshy 
leaves  exhale  a  rich  fragrance  even  for  years  after  they  are 
dry,  and  are  therefore  by  the  southern  planters  largely  mixed 
with  their  cured  tobacco,  to  impart  its  fragrance  to  that 
nauseous  weed." 

[34] 


The  Cumberland  Mountains 

ought  to  see  our  gold  mines.  I  agreed  to  stay 
and  went  to  the  mines.  Gold  is  found  in  small 
quantities  throughout  the  Alleghanies,  and 
many  farmers  work  at  mining  a  few  weeks  or 
months  every  year  when  their  time  is  not  more 
valuable  for  other  pursuits.  In  this  neighbor- 
hood miners  are  earning  from  half  a  dollar  to 
two  dollars  a  day.  There  are  several  large 
quartz  mills  not  far  from  here.  Common  labor 
is  worth  ten  dollars  a  month. 

September  17.  Spent  the  day  in  botanizing, 
blacksmithing,  and  examining  a  grist  mill. 
Grist  mills,  in  the  less  settled  parts  of  Tennes- 
see and  North  Carolina,  are  remarkably  simple 
affairs.  A  small  stone,  that  a  man  might  carry 
under  his  arm,  is  fastened  to  the  vertical  shaft 
of  a  little  home-made,  boyish-looking,  back- 
action  water-wheel,  which,  with  a  hopper  and 
a  box  to  receive  the  meal,  is  the  whole  affair. 
The  walls  of  the  mill  are  of  undressed  poles  cut 
from  seedling  trees  and  there  is  no  floor,  as 
lumber  is  dear.  No  dam  is  built.  The  water  is 
conveyed  along  some  hillside  until  sufficient 
[3Sl 


A  Thousand-Mile  Tf^alk 

fall  is  obtained,  a  thing  easily  done  in  the 
mountains. 

On  Sundays  you  may  see  wild,  unshorn,  un- 
combed men  coming  out  of  the  woods,  each 
with  a  bag  of  corn  on  his  back.  From  a  peck  to 
a  bushel  is  a  common  grist.  They  go  to  the  mill 
along  verdant  footpaths,  winding  up  and  down 
over  hill  and  valley,  and  crossing  many  a  rho- 
dodendron glen.  The  flowers  and  shining  leaves 
brush  against  their  shoulders  and  knees,  occa- 
sionally knocking  off  their  coon-skin  caps.  The 
first  arrived  throws  his  corn  into  the  hopper, 
turns  on  the  water,  and  goes  to  the  house. 
After  chatting  and  smoking  he  returns  to  see 
if  his  grist  is  done.  Should  the  stones  run 
empty  for  an  hour  or  two,  it  does  no  harm. 

This  is  a  fair  average  in  equipment  and  ca- 
pacity of  a  score  of  mills  that  I  saw  in  Tennes- 
see. This  one  was  built  by  John  Vohn,  who 
claimed  that  he  could  make  it  grind  twenty 
bushels  a  day.  But  since  it  fell  into  other  hands 
it  can  be  made  to  grind  only  ten  per  day.  All 
the  machines  of  Kentucky  and  Tennessee  are 
[  36  ] 


The  Cumberland  Mountains 

far  behind  the  age.  There  is  scarce  a  trace  of 
that  restless  spirit  of  speculation  and  inven- 
tion so  characteristic  of  the  North.  But  one 
way  of  doing  things  obtains  here,  as  if  laws  had 
been  passed  making  attempts  at  improvement 
a  crime.  Spinning  and  weaving  are  done  in 
every  one  of  these  mountain  cabins  wher- 
ever the  least  pretensions  are  made  to  thrift 
and  economy.  The  practice  of  these  ancient 
arts  they  deem  marks  of  advancement  rather 
than  of  backwardness.  "There's  a  place  back 
heah,"  said  my  worthy  entertainer,  "whar 
there's  a  mill-house,  an'  a  store-house,  an'  a 
still-house,  an'  a  spring-house,  an'  a  blacksmith 
shop  —  all  in  the  same  yard!  Cows  too,  an' 
heaps  of  big  gals  a-milkin'  them." 

This  is  the  most  primitive  country  I  have 
seen,  primitive  in  everything.  The  remotest 
hidden  parts  of  Wisconsin  are  far  in  advance  of 
the  mountain  regions  of  Tennessee  and  North 
Carolina.  But  my  host  speaks  of  the  "old- 
fashioned  unenlightened  times,"  like  a  phi- 
losopher in  the  best  light  of  civilization.  "I 
[37  1 


A  thousand- Mile  Walk 

believe  in  Providence,"  said  he.  "Our  fathers 
came  into  these  valleys,  got  the  richest  of  them, 
and  skimmed  off  the  cream  of  the  soil.  The 
worn-out  ground  won't  yield  no  roastin'  ears 
now.  But  the  Lord  foresaw  this  state  of  af- 
fairs, and  prepared  something  else  for  us.  And 
what  is  it?  Why  He  meant  us  to  bust  open 
these  copper  mines  and  gold  mines,  so  that 
we  may  have  money  to  buy  the  corn  that  we 
cannot  raise."  A  most  profound  observation. 
September  18.  Up  the  mountain  on  the  state 
line.  The  scenery  is  far  grander  than  any  I 
ever  before  beheld.  The  view  extends  from  the 
Cumberland  Mountains  on  the  north  far  into 
Georgia  and  North  Carolina  to  the  south,  an 
area  of  about  five  thousand  square  miles.  Such 
an  ocean  of  wooded,  waving,  swelling  moun- 
tain beauty  and  grandeur  is  not  to  be  described. 
Countless  forest-clad  hills,  side  by  side  in  rows 
and  groups,  seemed  to  be  enjoying  the  rich 
sunshine  and  remaining  motionless  only  be- 
cause they  were  so  eagerly  absorbing  it.  All 
were  united  by  curves  and  slopes  of  inimitable 
[38] 


The  Cumberland  Mountains 

softness  and  beauty.  Oh,  these  forest  gardens 
of  our  Father!  What  perfection,  what  divin- 
ity, in  their  architecture!  What  simplicity  and 
mysterious  complexity  of  detail!  Who  shall 
read  the  teaching  of  these  sylvan  pages,  the 
glad  brotherhood  of  rills  that  sing  in  the  val- 
leys, and  all  the  happy  creatures  that  dwell  in 
them  under  the  tender  keeping  of  a  Father's 
care? 

September  ig.  Received  another  solemn  warn- 
ing of  dangers  on  my  way  through  the  moun- 
tains. Was  told  by  my  worthy  entertainer  of  a 
wondrous  gap  in  the  mountains  which  he  ad- 
vised me  to  see.  "It  is  called  Track  Gap,"  said 
he,  "from  the  great  number  of  tracks  in  the 
rocks  —  bird  tracks,  bar  tracks,  hoss  tracks, 
men  tracks,  all  in  the  solid  rock  as  if  it  had  been 
mud."  Bidding  farewell  to  my  worthy  moun- 
taineer and  all  his  comfortable  wonders,  I  pur- 
sued my  way  to  the  South. 

As  I  was  leaving,  he  repeated  the  warnings  of 
danger  ahead,  saying  that  there  were  a  good 
many  people  living  like  wild  beasts  on  whatever 
[  39  1 


A  Thousand-Mile  TValk 

they  could  steal,  and  that  murders  were  some- 
times committed  for  four  or  five  dollars,  and 
even  less.  While  stopping  with  him  I  noticed 
that  a  man  came  regularly  after  dark  to  the 
house  for  his  supper.  He  was  armed  with  a  gun, 
a  pistol,  and  a  long  knife.  My  host  told  me  that 
this  man  was  at  feud  with  one  of  his  neighbors, 
and  that  they  were  prepared  to  shoot  one  an- 
other at  sight.  That  neither  of  them  could  do 
any  regular  work  or  sleep  in  the  same  place  two 
nights  in  succession.  That  they  visited  houses 
only  for  food,  and  as  soon  as  the  one  that  I  saw 
had  got  his  supper  he  went  out  and  slept  in  the 
woods,  without  of  course  making  a  fire.  His 
enemy  did  the  same. 

My  entertainer  told  me  that  he  was  trying 
to  make  peace  between  these  two  men,  because 
they  both  were  good  men,  and  if  they  would 
agree  to  stop  their  quarrel,  they  could  then 
both  go  to  work.  Most  of  the  food  in  this  house 
was  coffee  without  sugar,  corn  bread,  and  some- 
times bacon.  But  the  coffee  was  the  greatest 
luxury  which  these  people  knew.  The  only  way 
[  40  1 


"The  Cumberland  Mountains 

of  obtaining  it  was  by  selling  skins,  or,  in  par- 
ticular, "sang,"  that  is  ginseng,1  which  found 
a  market  in  far-off  China. 

My  path  all  to-day  led  me  along  the  leafy 
banks  of  the  Hiwassee,2  a  most  impressive 
mountain  river.  Its  channel  is  very  rough,  as 
it  crosses  the  edges  of  upturned  rock  strata, 
some  of  them  standing  at  right  angles,  or 
glancing  off  obliquely  to  right  and  left.  Thus  a 
multitude  of  short,  resounding  cataracts  are 
produced,  and  the  river  is  restrained  from  the 
headlong  speed  due  to  its  volume  and  the  in- 
clination of  its  bed. 

All  the  larger  streams  of  uncultivated  coun- 
tries are  mysteriously  charming  and  beautiful, 
whether  flowing  in  mountains  or  through 
swamps  and  plains.   Their  channels  are  inter- 

1  Muir's  journal  contains  the  following  additional  note: 
"M.  County  produces  #5000  worth  a  year  of  ginseng  root, 
valued  at  seventy  cents  a  pound.  Under  the  law  it  is  not  al- 
lowed to  be  gathered  until  the  first  of  September." 

2  In  his  journal  Muir  spells  the  name  "Hiawassee,"  a 
form  which  occurs  on  many  of  the  older  maps.  The  name 
probably  is  derived  from  the  Cherokee  Indian  "  Ayuhwasi," 
a  name  applied  to  several  of  their  former  settlements. 

[41  1 


A  Thousand- Mile  TValk 

estingly  sculptured,  far  more  so  than  the  grand- 
est architectural  works  of  man.  The  finest  of 
the  forests  are  usually  found  along  their  banks, 
and  in  the  multitude  of  falls  and  rapids  the  wil- 
derness finds  a  voice.  Such  a  river  is  the  Hi- 
wassee,  with  its  surface  broken  to  a  thousand 
sparkling  gems,  and  its  forest  walls  vine- 
draped  and  flowery  as  Eden.  And  how  fine  the 
songs  it  sings! 

In  Murphy  [North  Carolina]  I  was  "hailed 
by  the  sheriff  who  could  not  determine  by  my 
colors  and  rigging  to  what  country  or  craft  I 
belonged.  Since  the  war,  every  other  stranger 
in  these  lonely  parts  is  supposed  to  be  a  crimi- 
nal, and  all  are  objects  of  curiosity  or  appre- 
hensive concern.  After  a  few  minutes'  conver- 
sation with  this  chief  man  of  Murphy  I  was 
pronounced  harmless,  and  invited  to  his  house, 
where  for  the  first  time  since  leaving  home  I 
found  a  house  decked  with  flowers  and  vines, 
clean  within  and  without,  and  stamped  with 
the  comforts  of  culture  and  refinement  in  all 
its  arrangements.  Striking  contrast  to  the  un- 
[42I 


"The  Cumberland  Mountains 

couth  transitionist  establishments  from  the 
wigwams  of  savages  to  the  clumsy  but  clean 
log  castle  of  the  thrifty  pioneer. 

September  20.  All  day  among  the  groves  and 
gorges  of  Murphy  with  Mr.  Beale.  Was  shown 
the  site  of  Camp  Butler  where  General  Scott 
had  his  headquarters  when  he  removed  the 
Cherokee  Indians  to  a  new  home  in  the  West. 
Found  a  number  of  rare  and  strange  plants  on 
the  rocky  banks  of  the  river  Hiwassee.  In  the 
afternoon,  from  the  summit  of  a  commanding 
ridge,  I  obtained  a  magnificent  view  of  blue, 
softly  curved  mountain  scenery.  Among  the 
trees  I  saw  Ilex  [Holly]  for  the  first  time.  Mr. 
.  Beale  informed  me  that  the  paleness  of  most 
of  the  women  in  his  neighborhood,  and  the 
mountains  in  general  hereabouts,  was  caused 
chiefly  by  smoking  and  by  what  is  called  "dip- 
ping." I  had  never  even  heard  of  dipping.  The 
term  simply  describes  the  application  of  snuff 
to  the  gum  by  means  of  a  small  swab. 

September  21.  Most  luxuriant  forest.  Many 
brooks  running  across  the  road.  Blairsville 
[43  1 


A  "Thousand- Mile  Walk 

[Georgia],  which  I  passed  in  the  forenoon, 
seems  a  shapeless  and  insignificant  village,  but 
grandly  encircled  with  banded  hills.  At  night 
I  was  cordially  received  by  a  farmer  whose 
wife,  though  smart  and  neat  in  her  appearance, 
was  an  inveterate  smoker. 

September  22.  Hills  becoming  small,  sparsely 
covered  with  soil.  They  are  called  "knob  land" 
and  are  cultivated,  or  scratched,  with  a  kind 
of  one-tooth  cultivator.  Every  rain  robs  them 
of  their  fertility,  while  the  bottoms  are  of 
course  correspondingly  enriched.  About  noon 
I  reached  the  last  mountain  summit  on  my 
way  to  the  sea.  It  is  called  the  Blue  Ridge 
and  before  it  lies  a  prospect  very  different 
from  any  I  had  passed,  namely,  a  vast  uniform 
expanse  of  dark  pine  woods,  extending  to  the 
sea;  an  impressive  view  at  any  time  and  under 
any  circumstances,  but  particularly  so  to  one 
emerging  from  the  mountains. 

Traveled  in  the  wake  of  three  poor  but  merry 
mountaineers — an  old  woman,  a  young  woman, 
and  a  young  man  —  who  sat,  leaned,  and  lay 
[44] 


The  Cumberland  Mountains 

in  the  box  of  a  shackly  wagon  that  seemed  to 
be  held  together  by  spiritualism,  and  was  kept 
in  agitation  by  a  very  large  and  a  very  small 
mule.  In  going  down  hill  the  looseness  of  the 
harness  and  the  joints  of  the  wagon  allowed  the 
mules  to  back  nearly  out  of  sight  beneath  the 
box,  and  the  three  who  occupied  it  were  slid 
against  the  front  boards  in  a  heap  over  the 
mules'  ears.  Before  they  could  unravel  their 
limbs  from  this  unmannerly  and  impolite  dis- 
order, a  new  ridge  in  the  road  frequently  tilted 
them  with  a  swish  and  a  bump  against  the 
back  boards  in  a  mixing  that  was  still  more 
grotesque. 

I  expected  to  see  man,  women,  and  mules 
mingled  in  piebald  ruin  at  the  bottom  of  some 
rocky  hollow,  but  they  seemed  to  have  full 
confidence  in  the  back  board  and  front  board 
of  the  wagon-box.  So  they  continued  to  slide 
comfortably  up  and  down,  from  end  to  end,  in 
slippery  obedience  to  the  law  of  gravitation,  as 
the  grades  demanded.  Where  the  jolting  was 
moderate,  they  engaged  in  conversation  on 
[45] 


A  "Thousand-Mile  TValk 

love,  marriage,  and  camp-meeting,  according 
to  the  custom  of  the  country.  The  old  lady, 
through  all  the  vicissitudes  of  the  transporta- 
tion, held  a  bouquet  of  French  marigolds. 

The  hillsides  hereabouts  were  bearing  a  fine 
harvest  of  asters.  Reached  Mount  Yonah  in 
the  evening.  Had  a  long  conversation  with  an 
old  Methodist  slaveholder  and  mine  owner. 
Was  hospitably  refreshed  with  a  drink  of  fine 
cider. 


CHAPTER  III 

THROUGH  THE   RIVER  COUNTRY  OF  GEORGIA 

SEPTEMBER  23.  Am  now  fairly  out  of 
the  mountains.  Thus  far  the  climate  has 
not  changed  in  any  marked  degree,  the 
decrease  in  latitude  being  balanced  by  the  in- 
crease in  altitude.  These  mountains  are  high- 
ways on  which  northern  plants  may  extend 
their  colonies  southward.  The  plants  of  the 
North  and  of  the  South  have  many  minor 
places  of  meeting  along  the  way  I  have  trav- 
eled; but  it  is  here  on  the  southern  slope  of 
the  Alleghanies  that  the  greatest  number  of 
hardy,  enterprising  representatives  of  the  two 
climates  are  assembled. 

Passed  the  comfortable,  finely  shaded  little 
town  of  Gainesville.  The  Chattahoochee  River 
is  richly  embanked  with  massive,  bossy,  dark 
green  water  oaks,  and  wreathed  with  a  dense 
growth  of  muscadine  grapevines,  whose  ornate 
foliage,  so  well  adapted  to  bank  embroidery, 
[  47  1 


A  'Thousand- Mile  JValk 

was  enriched  with  other  interweaving  species  of 
vines  and  brightly  colored  flowers.  This  is  the 
first  truly  southern  stream  I  have  met. 

At  night  I  reached  the  home  of  a  young  man 
with  whom  I  had  worked  in  Indiana,  Mr. 
Prater.  He  was  down  here  on  a  visit  to  his 
father  and  mother.  This  was  a  plain  back- 
woods family,  living  out  of  sight  among  knobby 
timbered  hillocks  not  far  from  the  river.  The 
evening  was  passed  in  mixed  conversation  on 
southern  and  northern  generalities. 

September  24.  Spent  this  day  with  Mr.  Prater 
sailing  on  the  Chattahoochee,  feasting  on 
grapes  that  had  dropped  from  the  overhanging 
vines.  This  remarkable  species  of  wild  grape 
has  a  stout  stem,  sometimes  five  or  six  inches 
in  diameter,  smooth  bark  and  hard  wood,  quite 
unlike  any  other  wild  or  cultivated  grapevine 
that  I  have  seen.  The  grapes  are  very  large, 
some  of  them  nearly  an  inch  in  diameter, 
globular  and  fine  flavored.  Usually  there  are 
but  three  or  four  berries  in  a  cluster,  and  when 
mature  they  drop  off  instead  of  decaying  on 
[48] 


River  Country  of  Georgia 

the  vine.  Those  which  fall  into  the  river  are 
often  found  in  large  quantities  in  the  eddies 
along  the  bank,  where  they  are  collected  by 
men  in  boats  and  sometimes  made  into 
wine.  I  think  another  name  for  this  grape  is 
the  Scuppernong,1  though  called  "muscadine" 
here. 

Besides  sailing  on  the  river,  we  had  a  long 
walk  among  the  plant  bowers  and  tangles  of 
the  Chattahoochee  bottom  lands. 

September  2$.  Bade  good-bye  to  this  friendly 
family.  Mr.  Prater  accompanied  me  a  short 
distance  from  the  house  and  warned  me  over 
and  over  again  to  be  on  the  outlook  for  rattle- 
snakes. They  are  now  leaving  the  damp  low- 
lands, he  told  me,  so  that  the  danger  is  much 
greater  because  they  are  on  their  travels.  Thus 
warned,  I  set  out  for  Savannah,  but  got  lost 
in  the  vine-fenced  hills  and  hollows  of  the  river 

1  The  old  Indian  name  for  the  southern  species  of  fox- 
grape,  Vitis  rotundifolia,  which  Muir  describes  here.  Wood's 
Botany  listed  it  as  Vitis  vulpina  L.  and  remarks  "The  va- 
riety called  'Scuppernong'  is  quite  common  in  southern 
gardens." 

[  49  ] 


A  'Thousand- Mile  TValk 

bottom.  Was  unable  to  find  the  ford  to  which 
I  had  been  directed  by  Mr.  Prater. 

I  then  determined  to  push  on  southward 
regardless  of  roads  and  fords.  After  repeated 
failures  I  succeeded  in  finding  a  place  on  the 
river  bank  where  I  could  force  my  way  into  the 
stream  through  the  vine-tangles.  I  succeeded 
in  crossing  the  river  by  wading  and  swimming, 
careless  of  wetting,  knowing  that  I  would  soon 
dry  in  the  hot  sunshine. 

Out  near  the  middle  of  the  river  I  found 
great  difficulty  in  resisting  the  rapid  current. 
Though  I  braced  myseif  with  a  stout  stick,  I 
was  at  length  carried  away  in  spite  of  all  my 
efforts.  But  I  succeeded  in  swimming  to  the 
shallows  on  the  farther  side,  luckily  caught 
hold  of  a  rock,  and  after  a  rest  swam  and 
waded  ashore.  Dragging  myself  up  the  steep 
bank  by  the  overhanging  vines,  I  spread  out 
myself,  my  paper  money,  and  my  plants  to 
dry. 

Debated  with  myself  whether  to  proceed 
down  the  river  valley  until  I  could  buy  a  boat, 
[So] 


River  Country  of  Georgia 

or  lumber  to  make  one,  for  a  sail  instead  of 
a  march  through  Georgia.  I  was  intoxicated 
with  the  beauty  of  these  glorious  river  banks, 
which  I  fancied  might  increase  in  grandeur  as 
I  approached  the  sea.  But  I  finally  concluded 
that  such  a  pleasure  sail  would  be  less  profit- 
able than  a  walk,  and  so  sauntered  on  south- 
ward as  soon  as  I  was  dry.  Rattlesnakes 
abundant.  Lodged  at  a  farmhouse.  Found  a 
few  tropical  plants  in  the  garden. 

Cotton  is  the  principal  crop  hereabouts,  and 
picking  is  now  going  on  merrily.  Only  the  lower 
bolls  are  now  ripe.  Those  higher  on  the  plants 
are  green  and  unopened.  Higher  still,  there  are 
buds  and  flowers,  some  of  which,  if  the  plants 
be  thrifty  and  the  season  favorable,  will  con- 
tinue to  produce  ripe  bolls  until  January. 

The  negroes  are  easy-going  and  merry,  mak- 
ing a  great  deal  of  noise  and  doing  little  work. 
One  energetic  white  man,  working  with  a  will, 
would  easily  pick  as  much  cotton  as  half  a 
dozen  Sambos  and  Sallies.  The  forest  here  is 
almost  entirely  made  up  of  dim-green,  knotty, 
[51] 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 

sparsely  planted  pines.  The  soil  is  mostly  white, 
fine-grained  sand. 

September  26.  Reached  Athens  in  the  after- 
noon, a  remarkably  beautiful  and  aristocratic 
town,  containing  many  classic  and  magnificent 
mansions  of  wealthy  planters,  who  formerly 
owned  large  negro-stocked  plantations  in  the 
best  cotton  and  sugar  regions  farther  south. 
Unmistakable  marks  of  culture  and  refinement, 
as  well  as  wealth,  were  everywhere  apparent. 
This  is  the  most  beautiful  town  I  have  seen  on 
the  journey,  so  far,  and  the  only  one  in  the 
South  that  I  would  like  to  revisit. 

The  negroes  here  have  been  well  trained  and 
are  extremely  polite.  When  they  come  in  sight 
of  a  white  man  on  the  road,  off  goes  their 
hats,  even  at  a  distance  of  forty  or  fifty  yards, 
and  they  walk  bare-headed  until  he  is  out  of 
sight. 

September  27.  Long  zigzag  walk  amid  the 
old  plantations,  a  few  of  which  are  still  cul- 
tivated in  the  old  way  by  the  same  negroes 
that  worked  them  before  the  war,  and  who 
[52] 


River  Country  of  Georgia 

still  occupy  their  former  "quarters."  They  are 
now  paid  seven  to  ten  dollars  a  month. 

The  weather  is  very  hot  on  these  sandy, 
lightly  shaded,  lowland  levels.  When  very 
thirsty  I  discovered  a  beautiful  spring  in  a 
sandstone  basin  overhung  with  shady  bushes 
and  vines,  where  I  enjoyed  to  the  utmost  the 
blessing  of  pure  cold  water.  Discovered  here 
a  fine  southern  fern,  some  new  grasses,  etc. 
Fancied  that  I  might  have  been  directed  here 
by  Providence,  while  fainting  with  thirst.  It 
is  not  often  hereabouts  that  the  joys  of  cool 
water,  cool  shade,  and  rare  plants  are  so  de- 
lightfully combined. 

Witnessed  the  most  gorgeous  sunset  I  ever 
enjoyed,  in  this  bright  world  of  light.  The 
sunny  South  is  indeed  sunny.  Was  directed  by 
a  very  civil  negro  to  lodgings  for  the  night. 
Daily  bread  hereabouts  means  sweet  potatoes 
and  rusty  bacon. 

September  28.  The  water  oak  is  abundant 
on  stream  banks  and  in  damp  hollows.  Grasses 
are  becoming  tall  and  cane-like  and  do  not 
[53  1 


A  Thousand- Mile  JValk 

cover  the  ground  with  their  leaves  as  at  the 
North.  Strange  plants  are  crowding  about  me 
now.  Scarce  a  familiar  face  appears  among  all 
the  flowers  of  the  day's  walk. 

September  2Q.  To-day  I  met  a  magnificent 
grass,  ten  or  twelve  feet  in  stature,  with  a 
superb  panicle  of  glossy  purple  flowers.  Its 
leaves,  too,  are  of  princely  mould  and  dimen- 
sions. Its  home  is  in  sunny  meadows  and  along 
the  wet  borders  of  slow  streams  and  swamps. 
It  seems  to  be  fully  aware  of  its  high  rank,  and 
waves  with  the  grace  and  solemn  majesty  of 
a  mountain  pine.  I  wish  I  could  place  one  of 
these  regal  plants  among  the  grass  settlements 
of  our  Western  prairies.  Surely  every  panicle 
would  wave  and  bow  in  joyous  allegiance  and 
acknowledge  their  king. 

September  so.  Between  Thomson  and  Augusta 
I  found  many  new  and  beautiful  grasses,  tall 
gerardias,  liatris,  club  mosses,  etc.  Here,  too, 
is  the  northern  limit  of  the  remarkable  long- 
leafed  pine,  a  tree  from  sixty  to  seventy  feet 
in  height,  from  twenty  to  thirty  inches  in 
[54] 


A  SOUTHERN    PINE 


River  Country  of  Georgia 

diameter,  with  leaves  ten  to  fifteen  inches  long, 
in  dense  radiant  masses  at  the  ends  of  the  naked 
branches.  The  wood  is  strong,  hard,  and  very 
resinous.  It  makes  excellent  ship  spars,  bridge 
timbers,  and  flooring.  Much  of  it  is  shipped  to 
the  West  India  Islands,  New  York,  and  Gal- 
veston. 

The  seedlings,  five  or  six  years  old,  are  very 
striking  objects  to  one  from  the  North,  con- 
sisting, as  they  do,  of  the  straight,  leafless 
stem,  surmounted  by  a  crown  of  deep  green 
leaves,  arching  and  spreading  like  a  palm. 
Children  fancy  that  they  resemble  brooms,  and 
use  them  as  such  in  their  picnic  play-houses. 
Pinus  palustris  is  most  abundant  in  Georgia 
and  Florida. 

The  sandy  soil  here  is  sparingly  seamed  with 
rolled  quartz  pebbles  and  clay.  Denudation,  go- 
ing on  slowly,  allows  the  thorough  removal  of 
these  clay  seams,  leaving  only  the  sand.  Not- 
withstanding the  sandiness  of  the  soil,  much  of 
the  surface  of  the  country  is  covered  with  stand- 
ing water,  which  is  easily  accounted  for  by  the 
[SSl 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 

presence  of  the  above-mentioned  impermeable 
seams. 

Traveled  to-day  more  than  forty  miles  with- 
out dinner  or  supper.  No  family  would  re- 
ceive me,  so  I  had  to  push  on  to  Augusta.  Went 
hungry  to  bed  and  awoke  with  a  sore  stomach 
—  sore,  I  suppose,  from  its  walls  rubbing  on 
each  other  without  anything  to  grind.  A  negro 
kindly  directed  me  to  the  best  hotel,  called, 
I  think,  the  Planter's.  Got  a  good  bed  for  a 
dollar. 

October  i.  Found  a  cheap  breakfast  in  a 
market-place;  then  set  off  along  the  Savan- 
nah River  to  Savannah.  Splendid  grasses  and 
rich,  dense,  vine-clad  forests.  Muscadine  grapes 
in  cart-loads.  Asters  and  solidagoes  becoming 
scarce.  Carices  [sedges]  quite  rare.  Leguminous 
plants  abundant.  A  species  of  passion  flower  is 
common,  reaching  back  into  Tennessee.  It  is 
here  called  "  apricot  vine,"  has  a  superb  flower, 
and  the  most  delicious  fruit  I  have  ever  eaten. 

The  pomegranate  is  cultivated  here.  The 
fruit  is  about  the  size  of  an  orange,  has  a  thick, 
[56] 


River  Country  of  Georgia 

tough  skin,  and  when  opened  resembles  a  many- 
chambered  box  full  of  translucent  purple 
candies. 

Toward  evening  I  came  to  the  country  of  one 
of  the  most  striking  of  southern  plants,  the  so- 
called  "Long  Moss"  or  Spanish  Moss  [Til- 
landsia],  though  it  is  a  flowering  plant  and  be- 
longs to  the  "same  family  as  the  pineapple 
[Bromelworts].  The  trees  hereabouts  have  all 
their  branches  draped  with  it,  producing  a  re- 
markable effect. 

Here,  too,  I  found  an  impenetrable  cypress 
swamp.  This  remarkable  tree,  called  cypress, 
is  a  taxodium,  grows  large  and  high,  and  is 
remarkable  for  its  flat  crown.  The  whole  forest 
seems  almost  level  on  the  top,  as  if  each  tree 
had  grown  up  against  a  ceiling,  or  had  been 
rolled  while  growing.  This  taxodium  is  the 
only  level-topped  tree  that  I  have  seen.  The 
branches,  though  spreading,  are  careful  not  to 
pass  each  other,  and  stop  suddenly  on  reach- 
ing the  general  level,  as  if  they  had  grown  up 
against  a  ceiling. 

[S7l 


A  Thousand- Mile  JValk 

The  groves  and  thickets  of  smaller  trees  are 
full  of  blooming  evergreen  vines.  These  vines 
are  not  arranged  in  separate  groups,  or  in  deli- 
cate wreaths,  but  in  bossy  walls  and  heavy, 
mound-like  heaps  and  banks.  Am  made  to  feel 
that  I  am  now  in  a  strange  land.  I  know  hardly 
any  of  the  plants,  but  few  of  the  birds,  and  I 
am  unable  to  see  the  country  for  the  solemn, 
dark,  mysterious  cypress  woods  which  cover 
everything. 

The  winds  are  full  of  strange  sounds,  making 
one  feel  far  from  the  people  and  plants  and  fruit- 
ful fields  of  home.  Night  is  coming  on  and  I  am 
filled  with  indescribable  loneliness.  Felt  fever- 
ish; bathed  in  a  black,  silent  stream;  nervously 
watchful  for  alligators.  Obtained  lodging  in  a 
planter's  house  among  cotton  fields.  Although 
the  family  seemed  to  be  pretty  well-off,  the 
only  light  in  the  house  was  bits  of  pitch-pine 
wood  burned  in  the  fireplace. 

October  2.  In  the  low  bottom  forest  of  the 
Savannah  River.  Very  busy  with  new  speci- 
mens. Most  exquisitely  planned  wrecks  of 
[58] 


SPANISH    MOSS   (Tillandsid) 


River  Country  of  Georgia 

Agrostis  scabra  [Rough  Hair  Grass].  Pines  in 
glorious  array  with  open,  welcoming,  approach- 
able plants. 

Met  a  young  African  with  whom  I  had  a  long 
talk.  Was  amused  with  his  eloquent  narrative 
of  coon  hunting,  alligators,  and  many  super- 
stitions. He  showed  me  a  place  where  a  rail- 
road train  had  run  off  the  track,  and  assured 
me  that  the  ghosts  of  the  killed  may  be  seen 
every  dark  night. 

Had  a  long  walk  after  sundown.  At  last  was 
received  at  the  house  of  Dr.  Perkins.  Saw  Cape 
Jasmine  [Gardenia  florida]  in  the  garden.  Heard 
long  recitals  of  war  happenings,  discussion  of 
the  slave  question,  and  Northern  politics;  a 
thoroughly  characteristic  Southern  family,  re- 
fined in  manners  and  kind,  but  immovably 
prejudiced  on  everything  connected  with  slav- 
ery. 

The  family  table  was  unlike  any  I  ever  saw 

before.    It  was  circular,  and  the  central  part 

of  it  revolved.   When  any  one  wished  to  be 

helped,  he  placed  his  plate  on  the  revolving 

[S9l 


A  "Thousand-Mile  Walk 

part,  which  was  whirled  around  to  the  host, 
and  then  whirled  back  with  its  new  load.  Thus 
every  plate  was  revolved  into  place,  without 
the  assistance  of  any  of  the  family. 

October  3.  In  "pine  barrens"  most  of  the 
day.  Low,  level,  sandy  tracts ;  the  pines  wide 
apart ;  the  sunny  spaces  between  full  of  beau- 
tiful abounding  grasses,  liatris,  long,  wand- 
like  solidago,  saw  palmettos,  etc.,  covering  the 
ground  in  garden  style.  Here  I  sauntered  in 
delightful  freedom,  meeting  none  of  the  cat- 
clawed  vines,  or  shrubs,  of  the  alluvial  bot- 
toms.  Dwarf  live-oaks  common. 

Toward  evening  I  arrived  at  the  home  of  Mr. 
Cameron,  a  wealthy  planter,  who  had  large 
bands  of  slaves  at  work  in  his  cotton  fields. 
They  still  call  him  "Massa."  He  tells  me  that 
labor  costs  him  less  now  than  it  did  before  the 
emancipation  of  the  negroes.  When  I  arrived 
I  found  him  busily  engaged  in  scouring  the  rust 
off  some  cotton-gin  saws  which  had  been  ly- 
ing for  months  at  the  bottom  of  his  mill-pond 
to  prevent  Sherman's  "bummers"  from  des- 
[60] 


River  Country  of  Georgia 

troying  them.  The  most  valuable  parts  of  the 
grist-mill  and  cotton-press  were  hidden  in 
the  same  way.  "If  Bill  Sherman,"  he  said, 
"should  come  down  now  without  his  army, 
he  would  never  go  back." 

When  I  asked  him  if  he  could  give  me  food 
and  lodging  for  the  night  he  said,  "No,  no,  we 
have  no  accommodations  for  travelers."  I  said, 
"But  I  am  traveling  as  a  botanist  and  either 
have  to  find  lodgings  when  night  overtakes  me 
or  lie  outdoors,  which  I  often  have  had  to  do  in 
my  long  walk  from  Indiana.  But  you  see  that 
the  country  here  is  very  swampy;  if  you  will  at 
least  sell  me  a  piece  of  bread,  and  give  me  a 
drink  at  your  well,  I  shall  have  to  look  around 
for  a  dry  spot  to  lie  down  on." 

Then,  asking  me  a  few  questions,  and  nar- 
rowly examining  me,  he  said,  "Well,  it  is 
barely  possible  that  we  may  find  a  place  for 
you,  and  if  you  will  come  to  the  house  I  will 
ask  my  wife."  Evidently  he  was  cautious  to  get 
his  wife's  opinion  of  the  kind  of  creature  I  was 
before  committing  himself  to  hospitality.  He 
[61  ] 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

halted  me  at  the  door  and  called  out  his  wife, 
a  fine-looking  woman,  who  also  questioned  me 
narrowly  as  to  my  object  in  coming  so  far  down 
through  the  South,  so  soon  after  the  war.  She 
said  to  her  husband  that  she  thought  they  could, 
perhaps,  give  me  a  place  to  sleep. 

After  supper,  as  we  sat  by  the  fire  talking 
on  my  favorite  subject  of  botany,  I  described 
the  country  I  had  passed  through,  its  botani- 
cal character,  etc.  Then,  evidently,  all  doubt 
as  to  my  being  a  decent  man  vanished,  and 
they  both  said  that  they  would  n't  for  any- 
thing have  turned  me  away;  but  I  must  excuse 
their  caution,  for  perhaps  fewer  than  one  in  a 
hundred,  who  passed  through  this  unfrequented 
part  of  the  country,  were  to  be  relied  upon. 
"Only  a  short  time  ago  we  entertained  a  man 
who  was  well  spoken  and  well  dressed,  and  he 
vanished  some  time  during  the  night  with  some 
valuable  silverware." 

Mr.  Cameron  told  me  that  when  I  arrived 
he  tried  me  for  a  Mason,  and  finding  that  I  was 
not  a  Mason  he  wondered  still  more  that  I 
[62] 


River  Country  of  Georgia 

would  venture  into  the  country  without  being 
able  to  gain  the  assistance  of  brother  Masons 
in  these  troublous  times. 

"Young  man,"  he  said,  after  hearing  my  talks 
on  botany,  "I  see  that  your  hobby  is  botany. 
My  hobby  is  e-lec-tricity.  I  believe  that  the 
time  is  coming,  though  we  may  not  live  to  see 
it,  when  that  mysterious  power  or  force,  used 
now  only  for  telegraphy,  will  eventually  supply 
the  power  for  running  railroad  trains  and 
steamships,  for  lighting,  and,  in  a  word,  elec- 
tricity will  do  all  the  work  of  the  world." 

Many  times  since  then  I  have  thought  of 
the  wonderfully  correct  vision  of  this  Georgia 
planter,  so  far  in  advance  of  almost  everybody 
else  in  the  world.  Already  nearly  all  that  he 
foresaw  has  been  accomplished,  and  the  use  of 
electricity  is  being  extended  more  and  more 
every  year. 

October  4.  New  plants  constantly  appearing. 
All  day  in  dense,  wet,  dark,  mysterious  forest 
of  flat-topped  taxodiums. 

October  5.  Saw  the  stately  banana  for  the 
[63] 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

first  time,  growing  luxuriantly  in  the  wayside 
gardens.  At  night  with  a  very  pleasant,  in- 
telligent Savannah  family,  but  as  usual  was 
admitted  only  after  I  had  undergone  a  severe 
course  of  questioning. 

October  6.  Immense  swamps,  still  more  com- 
pletely fenced  and  darkened,  that  are  never 
ruffled  with  winds  or  scorched  with  drought. 
Many  of  them  seem  to  be  thoroughly  aquatic. 

October  j.  Impenetrable  taxodium  swamp, 
seemingly  boundless.  The  silvery  skeins  of 
tillandsia  becoming  longer  and  more  abun- 
dant. Passed  the  night  with  a  very  pleasant 
family  of  Georgians,  after  the  usual  questions 
and  cross  questions. 

October  8.  Found  the  first  woody  composites, 
a  most  notable  discovery.  Took  them  to  be 
such  at  a  considerable  distance.  Almost  all 
trees  and  shrubs  are  evergreens  here  with  thick 
polished  leaves.  Magnolia  grandiflora  becoming 
common.  A  magnificent  tree  in  fruit  and  foli- 
age as  well  as  in  flower.  Near  Savannah  I  found 
waste  places  covered  with  a  dense  growth  of 
[64] 


River  Country  of  Georgia 

woody  leguminous  plants,  eight  or  ten  feet 
high,  with  pinnate  leaves  and  suspended 
rattling  pods. 

Reached  Savannah,  but  find  no  word  from 
home,  and  the  money  that  I  had  ordered  to  be 
sent  by  express  from  Portage  [Wisconsin]  by 
my  brother  had  not  yet  arrived.  Feel  dreadfully 
lonesome  and  poor.  Went  to  the  meanest  look- 
ing lodging-house  that  I  could  find,  on  account 
of  its  cheapness. 


CHAPTER  IV 

CAMPING  AMONG  THE   TOMBS 

OCTOBER  o.  After  going  again  to  the 
express  office  and  post  office,  and  wan- 
dering about  the  streets,  I  found  a  road 
which  led  me  to  the  Bonaventure  graveyard. 
If  that  burying-ground  across  the  Sea  of  Gali- 
lee, mentioned  in  Scripture,  was  half  as  beau- 
tiful as  Bonaventure,  I  do  not  wonder  that  a 
man  should  dwell  among  the  tombs.  It  is  only 
three  or  four  miles  from  Savannah,  and  is 
reached  by  a  smooth  white  shell  road. 

There  is  but  little  to  be  seen  on  the  way  in 
land,  water,  or  sky,  that  would  lead  one  to  hope 
for  the  glories  of  Bonaventure.  The  ragged 
desolate  fields,  on  both  sides  of  the  road,  are 
overrun  with  coarse  rank  weeds,  and  show 
scarce  a  trace  of  cultivation.  But  soon  all  is 
changed.  Rickety  log  huts,  broken  fences,  and 
the  last  patch  of  weedy  rice-stubble  are  left 
behind.  You  come  to  beds  of  purple  liatris  and 
f  66  1 


Camping  among  the  'Tombs 

living  wild-wood  trees.  You  hear  the  song  of 
birds,  cross  a  small  stream,  and  are  with  Nature 
in  the  grand  old  forest  graveyard,  so  beautiful 
that  almost  any  sensible  person  would  choose 
to  dwell  here  with  the  dead  rather  than  with 
the  lazy,  disorderly  living. 

Part  of  the  grounds  was  cultivated  and 
planted  with  live-oak,  about  a  hundred  years 
ago,  by  a  wealthy  gentleman  who  had  his  coun- 
try residence  here.  But  much  the  greater  part 
is  undisturbed.  Even  those  spots  which  are 
disordered  by  art,  Nature  is  ever  at  work  to 
reclaim,  and  to  make  them  look  as  if  the  foot 
of  man  had  never  known  them.  Only  a  small 
plot  of  ground  is  occupied  with  graves  and  the 
old  mansion  is  in  ruins. 

The  most  conspicuous  glory  of  Bonaventure 
is  its  noble  avenue  of  live-oaks.  They  are  the 
most  magnificent  planted  trees  I  have  ever 
seen,  about  fifty  feet  high  and  perhaps  three 
or  four  feet  in  diameter,  with  broad  spreading 
leafy  heads.  The  main  branches  reach  out 
horizontally  until  they  come  together  over  the 
[  67] 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 

driveway,  embowering  it  throughout  its  entire 
length,  while  each  branch  is  adorned  like  a 
garden  with  ferns,  flowers,  grasses,  and  dwarf 
palmettos. 

But  of  all  the  plants  of  these  curious  tree- 
gardens  the  most  striking  and  characteristic  is 
the  so-called  Long  Moss  {Tillandsia  usneoides). 
It  drapes  all  the  branches  from  top  to  bottom, 
hanging  in  long  silvery-gray  skeins,  reaching  a 
length  of  not  less  than  eight  or  ten  feet,  and 
when  slowly  waving  in  the  wind  they  produce 
a  solemn  funereal  effect  singularly  impressive. 

There  are  also  thousands  of  smaller  trees  and 
clustered  bushes,  covered  almost  from  sight  in 
the  glorious  brightness  of  their  own  light.  The 
place  is  half  surrounded  by  the  salt  marshes 
and  islands  of  the  river,  their  reeds  and  sedges 
making  a  delightful  fringe.  Many  bald  eagles 
roost  among  the  trees  along  the  side  of  the 
marsh.  Their  screams  are  heard  every  morning, 
joined  with  the  noise  of  crows  and  the  songs  of 
countless  warblers,  hidden  deep  in  their  dwell- 
ings of  leafy  bowers.  Large  flocks  of  butter- 
[68] 


Camping  among  the  "Tombs 

flies,  all  kinds  of  happy  insects,  seem  to  be  in 
a  perfect  fever  of  joy  and  sportive  gladness. 
The  whole  place  seems  like  a  center  of  life.  The 
dead  do  not  reign  there  alone. 

Bonaventure  to  me  is  one  of  the  most  impres- 
sive assemblages  of  animal  and  plant  creatures 
I  ever  met.  I  was  fresh  from  the  Western 
prairies,  the  garden-like  openings  of  Wisconsin, 
the  beech  and  maple  and  oak  woods  of  Indiana 
and  Kentucky,  the  dark  mysterious  Savannah 
cypress  forests;  but  never  since  I  was  allowed 
to  walk  the  woods  have  I  found  so  impressive 
a  company  of  trees  as  the  tillandsia-draped 
oaks  of  Bonaventure. 

I  gazed  awe-stricken  as  one  new-arrived 
from  another  world.  Bonaventure  is  called  a 
graveyard,  a  town  of  the  dead,  but  the  few 
graves  are  powerless  in  such  a  depth  of  life. 
The  rippling  of  living  waters,  the  song  of  birds, 
the  joyous  confidence  of  flowers,  the  calm,  un- 
•  disturbable  grandeur  of  the  oaks,  mark  this 
place  of  graves  as  one  of  the  Lord's  most  fa- 
vored abodes  of  life  and  light. 
[69] 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

On  no  subject  are  our  ideas  more  warped  and 
pitiable  than  on  death.  Instead  of  the  sym- 
pathy, the  friendly  union,  of  life  and  death  so 
apparent  in  Nature,  we  are  taught  that  death 
is  an  accident,  a  deplorable  punishment  for 
the  oldest  sin,  the  arch-enemy  of  life,  etc. 
Town  children,  especially,  are  steeped  in  this 
death  orthodoxy,  for  the  natural  beauties  of 
death  are  seldom  seen  or  taught  in  towns. 

Of  death  among  our  own  species,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  thousand  styles  and  modes  of 
murder,  our  best  memories,  even  among  happy 
deaths,  yield  groans  and  tears,  mingled  with 
morbid  exultation;  burial  companies,  black  in 
cloth  and  countenance ;  and,  last  of  all,  a  black 
box  burial  in  an  ill-omened  place,  haunted  by 
imaginary  glooms  and  ghosts  of  every  degree. 
Thus  death  becomes  fearful,  and  the  most 
notable  and  incredible  thing  heard  around  a 
death-bed  is,  "I  fear  not  to  die." 

But  let  children  walk  with  Nature,  let  them 
see  the  beautiful  blendings  and  communions  of 
death  and  life,  their  joyous  inseparable  unity, 
[70] 


Camping  among  the  "Tombs 

as  taught  in  woods  and  meadows,  plains  and 
mountains  and  streams  of  our  blessed  star,  and 
they  will  learn  that  death  is  stingless  indeed, 
and  as  beautiful  as  life,  and  that  the  grave  has 
no  victory,  for  it  never  fights.  All  is  divine 
harmony. 

Most  of  the  few  graves  of  Bonaventure  are 
planted  with  flowers.  There  is  generally  a  mag- 
nolia at  the  head,  near  the  strictly  erect  marble, 
a  rose-bush  or  two  at  the  foot,  and  some  violets 
and  showy  exotics  along  the  sides  or  on  the 
tops.  All  is  enclosed  by  a  black  iron  railing, 
composed  of  rigid  bars  that  might  have  been 
spears  or  bludgeons  from  a  battlefield  in  Pan- 
demonium. 

It  is  interesting  to  observe  how  assiduously 
Nature  seeks  to  remedy  these  labored  art  blun- 
ders. She  corrodes  the  iron  and  marble,  and 
gradually  levels  the  hill  which  is  always  heaped 
up,  as  if  a  sufficiently  heavy  quantity  of  clods 
could  not  be  laid  on  the  dead.  Arching  grasses 
come  one  by  one ;  seeds  come  flying  on  downy 
wings,  silent  as  fate,  to  give  life's  dearest  beauty 
[71  1 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 

for  the  ashes  of  art ;  and  strong  evergreen  arms 
laden  with  ferns  and  tillandsia  drapery  are 
spread  over  all —  Life  at  work  everywhere, 
obliterating  all  memory  of  the  confusion  of  man. 

In  Georgia  many  graves  are  covered  with  a 
common  shingle  roof,  supported  on  four  posts 
as  the  cover  of  a  well,  as  if  rain  and  sunshine 
were  not  regarded  as  blessings.  Perhaps,  in  this 
hot  and  insalubrious  climate,  moisture  and  sun- 
heat  are  considered  necessary  evils  to  which 
they  do  not  wish  to  expose  their  dead. 

The  money  package  that  I  was  expecting  did 
not  arrive  until  the  following  week.  After  stop- 
ping the  first  night  at  the  cheap,  disreputable- 
looking  hotel,  I  had  only  about  a  dollar  and  a 
half  left  in  my  purse,  and  so  was  compelled  to 
camp  out  to  make  it  last  in  buying  only  bread. 
I  went  out  of  the  noisy  town  to  seek  a  sleeping- 
place  that  was  not  marshy.  After  gaining  the 
outskirts  of  the  town  toward  the  sea,  I  found 
some  low  sand  dunes,  yellow  with  flowering  soli- 
dagoes. 

I  wandered  wearily  from  dune  to  dune  sink- 
[72] 


Camping  among  the  Tombs 

ing  ankle-deep  in  the  sand,  searching  for  a 
place  to  sleep  beneath  the  tall  flowers,  free  from 
insects  and  snakes,  and  above  all  from  my  fel- 
low man.  But  idle  negroes  were  prowling  about 
everywhere,  and  I  was  afraid.  The  wind  had 
strange  sounds,  waving  the  heavy  panicles 
over  my  head,  and  I  feared  sickness  from  ma- 
laria so  prevalent  here,  when  I  suddenly  thought 
of  the  graveyard. 

"There,"  thought  I,  "is  an  ideal  place  for 
a  penniless  wanderer.  There  no  superstitious 
prowling  mischief  maker  dares  venture  for  fear 
of  haunting  ghosts,  while  for  me  there  will  be 
God's  rest  and  peace.  And  then,  if  I  am  to  be  ex- 
posed to  unhealthy  vapors,  I  shall  have  capital 
compensation  in  seeing  those  grand  oaks  in 
the  moonlight,  with  all  the  impressive  and 
nameless  influences  of  this  lonely  beautiful 
place." 

By  this  time  it  was  near  sunset,  and  I  has- 
tened across  the  common  to  the  road  and  set  off 
for  Bonaventure,  delighted  with  my  choice,  and 
almost  glad  to  find  that  necessity  had  furnished 
[73  1 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

me  with  so  good  an  excuse  for  doing  what  I 
knew  my  mother  would  censure ;  for  she  made 
me  promise  I  would  not  lie  out  of  doors  if  I 
could  possibly  avoid  it.  The  sun  was  set  ere 
I  was  past  the  negroes'  huts  and  rice  fields, 
and  I  arrived  near  the  graves  in  the  silent  hour 
of  the  gloaming. 

I  was  very  thirsty  after  walking  so  long  in 
the  muggy  heat,  a  distance  of  three  or  four 
miles  from  the  city,  to  get  to  this  graveyard. 
A  dull,  sluggish,  coffee-colored  stream  flows 
under  the  road  just  outside  the  graveyard  gar- 
den park,  from  which  I  managed  to  get  a  drink 
after  breaking  a  way  down  to  the  water  through 
a  dense  fringe  of  bushes,  daring  the  snakes  and 
alligators  in  the  dark.  Thus  refreshed  I  entered 
the  weird  and  beautiful  abode  of  the  dead. 

All  the  avenue  where  I  walked  was  in 
shadow,  but  an  exposed  tombstone  frequently 
shone  out  in  startling  whiteness  on  either  hand, 
and  thickets  of  sparkleberry  bushes  gleamed 
like  heaps  of  crystals.  Not  a  breath  of  air  moved 
the  gray  moss,  and  the  great  black  arms  of  the 
[74] 


Camping  among  the  Tombs 

trees  met  overhead  and  covered  the  avenue. 
But  the  canopy  was  fissured  by  many  a  netted 
seam  and  leafy-edged  opening,  through  which 
the  moonlight  sifted  in  auroral  rays,  broidering 
the  blackness  in  silvery  light.  Though  tired, 
I  sauntered  a  while  enchanted,  then  lay  down 
under  one  of  the  great  oaks.  I  found  a  little 
mound  that  served  for  a  pillow,  placed  my 
plant  press  and  bag  beside  me  and  rested  fairly 
well,  though  somewhat  disturbed  by  large 
prickly-footed  beetles  creeping  across  my  hands 
and  face,  and  by  a  lot  of  hungry  stinging  mo- 
squitoes. 

When  I  awoke,  the  sun  was  up  and  all  Na- 
ture was  rejoicing.  Some  birds  had  discovered 
me  as  an  intruder,  and  were  making  a  great 
ado  in  interesting  language  and  gestures.  I 
heard  the  screaming  of  the  bald  eagles,  and  of 
some  strange  waders  in  the  rushes.  I  heard  the 
hum  of  Savannah  with  the  long  jarring  hallos 
of  negroes  far  away.  On  rising  I  found  that  my 
head  had  been  resting  on  a  grave,  and  though 
my  sleep  had  not  been  quite  so  sound  as  that 
[75  1 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 

of  the  person  below,  I  arose  refreshed,  and  look- 
ing about  me,  the  morning  sunbeams  pouring 
through  the  oaks  and  gardens  dripping  with 
dew,  the  beauty  displayed  was  so  glorious  and 
exhilarating  that  hunger  and  care  seemed  only 
a  dream. 

Eating  a  breakfast  cracker  or  two  and  watch- 
ing for  a  few  hours  the  beautiful  light,  birds, 
squirrels,  and  insects,  I  returned  to  Savannah, 
to  find  that  my  money  package  had  not  yet  ar- 
rived. I  then  decided  to  go  early  to  the  grave- 
yard and  make  a  nest  with  a  roof  to  keep  off 
the  dew,  as  there  was  no  way  of  finding  out  how 
long  I  might  have  to  stay.  I  chose  a  hidden 
spot  in  a  dense  thicket  of  sparkleberry  bushes, 
near  the  right  bank  of  the  Savannah  River, 
where  the  bald  eagles  and  a  multitude  of  sing- 
ing birds  roosted.  It  was  so  well  hidden  that 
I  had  to  carefully  fix  its  compass  bearing  in  my 
mind  from  a  mark  I  made  on  the  side  of  the 
main  avenue,  that  I  might  be  able  to  find  it  at 
bedtime. 

I  used  four  of  the  bushes  as  corner  posts  for 
[76] 


Camping  among  the  Tombs 

my  little  hut,  which  was  about  four  or  five  feet 
long  by  about  three  or  four  in  width,  tied 
little  branches  across  from  forks  in  the  bushes 
to  support  a  roof  of  rushes,  and  spread  a  thick 
mattress  of  Long  Moss  over  the  floor  for  a  bed. 
My  whole  establishment  was  on  so  small  a 
scale  that  I  could  have  taken  up,  not  only  my 
bed,  but  my  whole  house,  and  walked.  There 
I  lay  that  night,  eating  a  few  crackers. 

Next  day  I  returned  to  the  town  and  was 
disappointed  as  usual  in  obtaining  money.  So 
after  spending  the  day  looking  at  the  plants  in 
the  gardens  of  the  fine  residences  and  town 
squares,  I  returned  to  my  graveyard  home. 
That  I  might  not  be  observed  and  suspected 
of  hiding,  as  if  I  had  committed  a  crime,  I 
always  went  home  after  dark,  and  one  night, 
as  I  lay  down  in  my  moss  nest,  I  felt  some 
cold-blooded  creature  in  it;  whether  a  snake 
or  simply  a  frog  or  toad  I  do  not  know,  but 
instinctively,  instead  of  drawing  back  my 
hand,  I  grasped  the  poor  creature  and  threw 
it  over  the  tops  of  the  bushes.  That  was 
[77] 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

the  only  significant  disturbance  or  fright  that 
I  got. 

In  the  morning  everything  seemed  divine. 
Only  squirrels,  sunbeams,  and  birds  came 
about  me.  I  was  awakened  every  morning  by 
these  little  singers  after  they  discovered  my 
nest.  Instead  of  serenely  singing  their  morning 
songs  they  at  first  came  within  two  or  three 
feet  of  the  hut,  and,  looking  in  at  me  through 
the  leaves,  chattered  and  scolded  in  half-angry, 
half-wondering  tones.  The  crowd  constantly 
increased,  attracted  by  the  disturbance.  Thus 
I  began  to  get  acquainted  with  my  bird  neigh- 
bors in  this  blessed  wilderness,  and  after  they 
learned  that  I  meant  them  no  ill  they  scolded 
less  and  sang  more. 

After  five  days  of  this  graveyard  life  I  saw 
that  even  with  living  on  three  or  four  cents  a 
day  my  last  twenty-five  cents  would  soon  be 
spent,  and  after  trying  again  and  again  unsuc- 
cessfully to  find  some  employment  began  to 
think  that  I  must  strike  farther  out  into  the 
country,  but  still  within  reach  of  town,  until 
[78] 


Camping  among  the  Tombs 

I  came  to  some  grain  or  rice  field  that  had 
not  yet  been  harvested,  trusting  that  I  could 
live  indefinitely  on  toasted  or  raw  corn,  or 
rice. 

By  this  time  I  was  becoming  faint,  and  in 
making  the  journey  to  the  town  was  alarmed  to 
find  myself  growing  staggery  and  giddy.  The 
ground  ahead  seemed  to  be  rising  up  in  front 
of  me,  and  the  little  streams  in  the  ditches  on 
the  sides  of  the  road  seemed  to  be  flowing  up 
hill.  Then  I  realized  that  I  was  becoming  dan- 
gerously hungry  and  became  more  than  ever 
anxious  to  receive  that  money  package. 

To  my  delight  this  fifth  or  sixth  morning, 
when  I  inquired  if  the  money  package  had 
come,  the  clerk  replied  that  it  had,  but  that  he 
could  not  deliver  it  without  my  being  identi- 
fied. I  said,  "Well,  here!  read  my  brother's 
letter,"  handing  it  to  him.  "It  states  the 
amount  in  the  package,  where  it  came  from, 
the  day  it  was  put  into  the  office  at  Portage 
City,  and  I  should  think  that  would  be  enough." 
He  said,  "No,  that  is  not  enough.  How  do  I 
[79] 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

know  that  this  letter  is  yours  ?  You  may  have 
stolen  it.  How  do  I  know  that  you  are  John 
Muir?" 

I  said,  "Well,  don't  you  see  that  this  letter 
indicates  that  I  am  a  botanist?  For  in  it  my 
brother  says, '  I  hope  you  are  having  a  good  time 
and  finding  many  new  plants/  Now,  you  say 
that  I  might  have  stolen  this  letter  from  John 
Muir,  and  in  that  way  have  become  aware  of 
there  being  a  money  package  to  arrive  from 
Portage  for  him.  But  the  letter  proves  that 
John  Muir  must  be  a  botanist,  and  though,  as 
you  say,  his  letter  might  have  been  stolen,  it 
would  hardly  be  likely  that  the  robber  would 
be  able  to  steal  John  Muir's  knowledge  of 
botany.  Now  I  suppose,  of  course,  that  you 
have  been  to  school  and  know  something  of 
botany.  Examine  me  and  see  if  I  know  any- 
thing about  it." 

At  this  he  laughed  good-naturedly,  evidently 

feeling  the  force  of  my  argument,  and,  perhaps, 

pitying  me  on  account  of  looking  pale  and 

hungry,  he  turned  and  rapped  at  the  door  of 

[80] 


Camping  among  the  "Tombs 

a  private  office  —  probably  the  Manager's  — 
called  him  out  and  said,  "Mr.  So  and  So,  here 
is  a  man  who  has  inquired  every  day  for  the 
last  week  or  so  for  a  money  package  from  Por- 
tage, Wisconsin.  He  is  a  stranger  in  the  city 
with  no  one  to  identify  him.  He  states  correctly 
the  amount  and  the  name  of  the  sender.  He  has 
shown  me  a  letter  which  indicates  that  Mr. 
Muir  is  a  botanist,  and  that  although  a  travel- 
ing companion  may  have  stolen  Mr.  Muir's 
letter,  he  could  not  have  stolen  his  botany,  and 
requests  us  to  examine  him." 

The  head  official  smiled,  took  a  good  stare 
into  my  face,  waved  his  hand,  and  said,  "Let 
him  have  it."  Gladly  I  pocketed  my  money, 
and  had  not  gone  along  the  street  more  than 
a  few  rods  before  I  met  a  very  large  negro 
woman  with  a  tray  of  gingerbread,  in  which  I 
immediately  invested  some  of  my  new  wealth, 
and  walked  rejoicingly,  munching  along  the 
street,  making  no  attempt  to  conceal  the  plea- 
sure I  had  in  eating.  Then,  still  hunting  for 
more  food,  I  found  a  sort  of  eating-place  in 
[81  ] 


A  "Thousand-Mile  Walk 

a  market  and  had  a  large  regular  meal  on 
top  of  the  gingerbread!  Thus  my  "marching 
through  Georgia"  terminated  handsomely  in  a 
jubilee  of  bread. 


4 


CHAPTER  V 

THROUGH   FLORIDA   SWAMPS   AND   FORESTS 

OF  the  people  of  the  States  that  I  have 
now  passed,  I  best  like  the  Georgians. 
They  have  charming  manners,  and 
their  dwellings  are  mostly  larger  and  better 
than  those  of  adjacent  States.  However  costly 
or  ornamental  their  homes  or  their  manners, 
they  do  not,  like  those  of  the  New  Englander, 
appear  as  the  fruits  of  intense  and  painful  sac- 
rifice and  training,  but  are  entirely  divested  of 
artificial  weights  and  measures,  and  seem  to 
pervade  and  twine  about  their  characters  as 
spontaneous  growths  with  the  durability  and 
charm  of  living  nature. 

In  particular,  Georgians,  even  the  common- 
est, have  a  most  charmingly  cordial  way  of  say- 
ing to  strangers,  as  they  proceed  on  their  jour- 
ney, "I  wish  you  well,  sir."  The  negroes  of 
Georgia,  too,  are  extremely  mannerly  and  po- 
lite, and  appear  always  to  be  delighted  to  find 
opportunity  for  obliging  anybody. 
[83  ] 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

Athens  contains  many  beautiful  residences. 
I  never  before  saw  so  much  about  a  home  that 
was  so  evidently  done  for  beauty  only,  although 
this  is  by  no  means  a  universal  characteristic  of 
Georgian  homes.  Nearly  all  well-to-do  farmers' 
families  in  Georgia  and  Tennessee  spin  and 
weave  their  own  cloth.  This  work  is  almost  all 
done  by  the  mothers  and  daughters  and  con- 
sumes much  of  their  time. 

The  traces  of  war  are  not  only  apparent  on 
the  broken  fields,  burnt  fences,  mills,  and  woods 
ruthlessly  slaughtered,  but  also  on  the  counte- 
nances of  the  people.  A  few  years  after  a  forest 
has  been  burned  another  generation  of  bright 
and  happy  trees  arises,  in  purest,  freshest  vigor; 
only  the  old  trees,  wholly  or  half  dead,  bear 
marks  of  the  calamity.  So  with  the  people  of 
this  war-field.  Happy,  unscarred,  and  unclouded 
youth  is  growing  up  around  the  aged,  half- 
consumed,  and  fallen  parents,  who  bear  in  sad 
measure  the  ineffaceable  marks  of  the  farth- 
est-reaching and  most  infernal  of  all  civilized 
calamities. 

[84] 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

Since  the  commencement  of  my  floral  pil- 
grimage I  have  seen  much  that  is  not  only  new, 
but  altogether  unallied,  unacquainted  with  the 
plants  of  my  former  life.  I  have  seen  magno- 
lias, tupelo,  live-oak,  Kentucky  oak,  tilland- 
sia,  long-leafed  pine,  palmetto,  schrankia,  and 
whole  forests  of  strange  trees  and  vine-tied 
thickets  of  blooming  shrubs;  whole  meadow- 
fuls  of  magnificent  bamboo  and  lakefuls  of  lilies, 
all  new  to  me;  yet  I  still  press  eagerly  on  to 
Florida  as  the  special  home  of  the  tropical 
plants  I  am  looking  for,  and  I  feel  sure  I  shall 
not  be  disappointed. 

The  same  day  on  which  the  money  arrived 
I  took  passage  on  the  steamship  Sylvan  Shore 
for  Fernandina,  Florida.  The  daylight  part  of 
this  sail  along  the  coast  of  Florida  was  full  of 
novelty,  and  by  association  awakened  memories 
of  my  Scottish  days  at  Dunbar  on  the  Firth  of 
Forth. 

On  board  I  had  civilized  conversation  with  a 
Southern  planter  on  topics  that  are  found  float- 
ing in  the  mind  of  every  white  man  down  here 
[85  ] 


A  'Thousand- Mile  Walk 

who  has  a  single  thought.  I  also  met  a  brother- 
Scotchman,  who  was  especially  interesting  and 
had  some  ideas  outside  of  Southern  politics. 
Altogether  my  half-day  and  night  on  board  the 
steamer  were  pleasant,  and  carried  me  past 
a  very  sickly,  entangled,  overflowed,  and  un- 
walkable  piece  of  forest. 

It  is  pretty  well  known  that  a  short  geologi- 
cal time  ago  the  ocean  covered  the  sandy  level 
margin,  extending  from  the  foot  of  the  Alle- 
ghanies  to  the  present  coast-line,  and  in  re- 
ceding left  many  basins  for  lakes  and  swamps. 
The  land  is  still  encroaching  on  the  sea,  and  it 
does  so  not  evenly,  in  a  regular  line,  but  in 
fringing  lagoons  and  inlets  and  dotlike  coral 
islands. 

It  is  on  the  coast  strip  of  isles  and  peninsulas 
that  sea-island  cotton  is  grown.  Some  of  these 
small  islands  are  afloat,  anchored  only  by  the 
roots  of  mangroves  and  rushes.  For  a  few 
hours  our  steamer  sailed  in  the  open  sea,  ex- 
posed to  its  waves,  but  most  of  the  time 
she  threaded  her  way  among  the  lagoons,  the 
[  86] 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

home  of  alligators  and  countless  ducks  and 
waders. 

October  15.  To-day,  at  last,  I  reached  Florida, 
the  so-called  "Land  of  Flowers,"  that  I  had  so 
long  waited  for,  wondering  if  after  all  my  long- 
ings and  prayers  would  be  in  vain,  and  I  should 
die  without  a  glimpse  of  the  flowery  Canaan. 
But  here  it  is,  at  the  distance  of  a  few  yards ! 
—  a  flat,  watery,  reedy  coast,  with  clumps  of 
mangrove  and  forests  of  moss-dressed,  strange 
trees  appearing  low  in  the  distance.  The  steamer 
finds  her  way  among  the  reedy  islands  like  a 
duck,  and  I  step  on  a  rickety  wharf.  A  few  steps 
more  take  me  to  a  rickety  town,  Fernandina. 
I  discover  a  baker,  buy  some  bread,  and  with- 
out asking  a  single  question,  make  for  the 
shady,  gloomy  groves. 

In  visiting  Florida  in  dreams,  of  either  day 
or  night,  I  always  came  suddenly  on  a  close 
forest  of  trees,  every  one  in  flower,  and  bent 
down  and  entangled  to  network  by  luxuriant, 
bright-blooming  vines,  and  over  all  a  flood  of 
bright  sunlight.  But  such  was  not  the  gate 
[87] 


A  "Thousand- Mile  Walk 

by  which  I  entered  the  promised  land.  Salt 
marshes,  belonging  more  to  the  sea  than  to  the 
land ;  with  groves  here  and  there,  green  and  un- 
flowered,  sunk  to  the  shoulders  in  sedges  and 
rushes;  with  trees  farther  back,  ill  defined  in 
their  boundary,  and  instead  of  rising  in  hilly 
waves  and  swellings,  stretching  inland  in  low 
water-like  levels. 

We  were  all  discharged  by  the  captain  of  the 
steamer  without  breakfast,  and,  after  meeting 
and  examining  the  new  plants  that  crowded 
about  me,  I  threw  down  my  press  and  little 
bag  beneath  a  thicket,  where  there  was  a  dry 
spot  on  some  broken  heaps  of  grass  and  roots, 
something  like  a  deserted  muskrat  house,  and 
applied  myself  to  my  bread  breakfast.  Every- 
thing in  earth  and  sky  had  an  impression  of 
strangeness ;  not  a  mark  of  friendly  recognition, 
not  a  breath,  not  a  spirit  whisper  of  sympathy 
came  from  anything  about  me,  and  of  course 
I  was  lonely.  I  lay  on  my  elbow  eating  my 
bread,  gazing,  and  listening  to  the  profound 
strangeness. 

[88] 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

While  thus  engaged  I  was  startled  from  these 
gatherings  of  melancholy  by  a  rustling  sound 
in  the  rushes  behind  me.  Had  my  mind  been 
in  health,  and  my  body  not  starved,  I  should 
only  have  turned  calmly  to  the  noise.  But  in 
this  half-starved,  unfriended  condition  I  could 
have  no  healthy  thought,  and  I  at  once  believed 
that  the  sound  came  from  an  alligator.  I  fan- 
cied I  could  feel  the  stroke  of  his  long  notched 
tail,  and  could  see  his  big  jaws  and  rows  of 
teeth,  closing  with  a  springy  snap  on  me,  as  I 
had  seen  in  pictures. 

Well,  I  don't  know  the  exact  measure  of  my 
fright  either  in  time  or  pain,  but  when  I  did 
come  to  a  knowledge  of  the  truth,  my  man- 
eating  alligator  became  a  tall  white  crane,  hand- 
some as  a  minister  from  spirit  land  —  "only 
that."  I  was  ashamed  and  tried  to  excuse  my- 
self on  account  of  Bonaventure  anxiety  and 
hunger. 

Florida  is  so  watery  and  vine-tied  that  path- 
less wanderings  are  not  easily  possible  in  any 
direction.  I  started  to  cross  the  State  by  a  gap 
[89] 


A  Thousand- Mile  TValk 

hewn  for  the  locomotive,  walking  sometimes 
between  the  rails,  stepping  from  tie  to  tie,  or 
walking  on  the  strip  of  sand  at  the  sides,  gazing 
into  the  mysterious  forest,  Nature's  own.  It  is 
impossible  to  write  the  dimmest  picture  of 
plant  grandeur  so  redundant,  unfathomable. 
)  Short  was  the  measure  of  my  walk  to-day. 
A  new,  canelike  grass,  or  big  lily,  or  gorgeous 
flower  belonging  to  tree  or  vine,  would  catch 
my  attention,  and  I  would  throw  down  my  bag 
and  press  and  splash  through  the  coffee-brown 
water  for  specimens.  Frequently  I  sank  deeper 
and  deeper  until  compelled  to  turn  back  and 
make  the  attempt  in  another  and  still  another 
place.  Oftentimes  I  was  tangled  in  a  laby- 
rinth of  armed  vines  like  a  fly  in  a  spider-web. 
At  all  times,  whether  wading  or  climbing  a  tree 
for  specimens  of  fruit,  I  was  overwhelmed  with 
the  vastness  and  unapproachableness  of  the 
great  guarded  sea  of  sunny  plants. 

Magnolia  grandiflora  I  had  seen  in  Georgia; 
but    its  home,  its  better  land,  is  here.    Its 
large  dark-green  leaves,  glossy  bright  above 
[  90  1 


A  Thousand- Mile  TValk 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

and  rusty  brown  beneath,  gleam  and  mirror 
the  sunbeams  most  gloriously  among  countless 
flower-heaps  of  the  climbing,  smothering  vines. 
It  is  bright  also  in  fruit  and  more  tropical  in 
form  and  expression  than  the  orange.  It  speaks 
itself  a  prince  among  its  fellows. 

Occasionally,  I  came  to  a  little  strip  of  open 
sand,  planted  with  pine  {Pinus  palustris  or 
Cubensis).  Even  these  spots  were  mostly  wet, 
though  lighted  with  free  sunshine,  and  adorned 
with  purple  liatris,  and  orange-colored  Osmunda 
cinnamomea.  But  the  grandest  discovery  of 
this  great  wild  day  was  the  palmetto. 

I  was  meeting  so  many  strange  plants  that  I 
was  much  excited,  making  many  stops  to  get 
specimens.  But  I  could  not  force  my  way  far 
through  the  swampy  forest,  although  so  tempt- 
ing and  full  of  promise.  Regardless  of  water 
snakes  or  insects,  I  endeavored  repeatedly  to 
force  a  way  through  the  tough  vine-tangles, 
but  seldom  succeeded  in  getting  farther  than  a 
few  hundred  yards. 

It  was  while  feeling  sad  to  think  that  I  was 
[91  1 


dl  Thousand- Mile  TValk 

only  walking  on  the  edge  of  the  vast  wood,  that 
I  caught  sight  of  the  first  palmetto  in  a  grassy- 
place,  standing  almost  alone.  A  few  magnolias 
were  near  it,  and  bald  cypresses,  but  it  was  not 
shaded  by  them.  They  tell  us  that  plants  are 
perishable,  soulless  creatures,  that  only  man  is 
immortal,  etc. ;  but  this,  I  think,  is  something 
that  we  know  very  nearly  nothing  about.  Any- 
how, this  palm  was  indescribably  impressive 
and  told  me  grander  things  than  I  ever  got 
from  human  priest. 

This  vegetable  has  a  plain  gray  shaft,  round 
as  a  broom-handle,  and  a  crown  of  varnished 
channeled  leaves.  It  is  a  plainer  plant  than  the 
humblest  of  Wisconsin  oaks ;  but,  whether  rock- 
ing and  rustling  in  the  wind  or  poised  thought- 
ful and  calm  in  the  sunshine,  it  has  a  power  of 
expression  not  excelled  by  any  plant  high  or  low 
that  I  have  met  in  my  whole  walk  thus  far. 

This,  my  first  specimen,  was  not  very  tall, 

only  about  twenty-five  feet  high,  with  fifteen  or 

twenty  leaves,  arching  equally  and  evenly  all 

around.  Each  leaf  was  about  ten  feet  in  length, 

[92] 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

the  blade  four  feet,  the  stalk  six.  The  leaves  are 
channeled  like  half-open  clams  and  are  highly- 
polished,  so  that  they  reflect  the  sunlight  like 
glass.  The  undeveloped  leaves  on  the  top  stand 
erect,  closely  folded,  all  together  forming  an 
oval  crown  over  which  the  tropic  light  is  poured 
and  reflected  from  its  slanting  mirrors  in  sparks 
and  splinters  and  long-rayed  stars. 

I  am  now  in  the  hot  gardens  of  the  sun,  where 
the  palm  meets  the  pine,  longed  and  prayed  for 
and  often  visited  in  dreams,  and,  though  lonely 
to-night  amid  this  multitude  of  strangers,  strange 
plants,  strange  winds  blowing  gently,  whis- 
pering, cooing,  in  a  language  I  never  learned, 
and  strange  birds  also,  everything  solid  or 
spiritual  full  of  influences  that  I  never  before 
felt,  yet  I  thank  the  Lord  with  all  my  heart  for 
his  goodness  in  granting  me  admission  to  this 
magnificent  realm. 

October  16.  Last  evening  when  I  was  in  the 
trackless  woods,  the  great  mysterious  night  be- 
coming more  mysterious  in  the  thickening  dark- 
ness, I  gave  up  hope  of  finding  food  or  a  house 
[93  1 


A  Thousand- Mile  J^alk 

bed,  and  searched  only  for  a  dry  spot  on  which 
to  sleep  safely  hidden  from  wild,  runaway  ne- 
groes. I  walked  rapidly  for  hours  in  the  wet, 
level  woods,  but  not  a  foot  of  dry  ground  could 
I  find.  Hollow-voiced  owls  were  calling  with- 
out intermission.  All  manner  of  night  sounds 
came  from  strange  insects  and  beasts,  one 
by  one,  or  crowded  together.  All  had  a  home 
but  I.  Jacob  on  the  dry  plains  of  Padan- 
aram,  with  a  stone  pillow,  must  have  been 
comparatively  happy. 

When  I  came  to  an  open  place  where  pines 
grew,  it  was  about  ten  o'clock,  and  I  thought 
that  now  at  last  I  would  find  dry  ground.  But 
even  the  sandy  barren  was  wet,  and  I  had  to 
grope  in  the  dark  a  long  time,  feeling  the  ground 
with  my  hands  when  my  feet  ceased  to  plash, 
before  I  at  last  discovered  a  little  hillock  dry 
enough  to  lie  down  on.  I  ate  a  piece  of  bread 
that  I  fortunately  had  in  my  bag,  drank  some 
of  the  brown  water  about  my  precious  hillock, 
and  lay  down.  The  noisiest  of  the  unseen 
witnesses  around  me  were  the  owls,  who  pro- 
[94] 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

nounced  their  gloomy  speeches  with  profound 
emphasis,  but  did  not  prevent  the  coming  of 
sleep  to  heal  weariness. 

In  the  morning  I  was  cold  and  wet  with  dew, 
and  I  set  out  breakfastless.  Flowers  and  beauty 
I  had  in  abundance,  but  no  bread.  A  serious 
matter  is  this  bread  which  perishes,  and,  could 
it  be  dispensed  with,  I  doubt  if  civilization  would 
ever  see  me  again.  I  walked  briskly,  watching 
for  a  house,  as  well  as  the  grand  assemblies  of 
novel  plants. 

Near  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  I  came  to  a 
shanty  where  a  party  of  loggers  were  getting 
out  long  pines  for  ship  spars.  They  were  the 
wildest  of  all  the  white  savages  I  have  met. 
The  long-haired  ex-guerrillas  of  the  mountains 
of  Tennessee  and  North  Carolina  are  uncivil- 
ized fellows ;  but  for  downright  barbarism  these 
Florida  loggers  excel.  Nevertheless,  they  gave 
me  a  portion  of  their  yellow  pork  and  hominy 
without  either  apparent  hospitality  or  a  grudge, 
and  I  was  glad  to  escape  to  the  forest  again. 

A  few  hours  later  I  dined  with  three  men  and 
[95  1 


A  "Thousand- Mile  Walk 

three  dogs.  I  was  viciously  attacked  by  the  lat- 
ter, who  undertook  to  undress  me  with  their 
teeth.  I  was  nearly  dragged  down  backward, 
but  escaped  unbitten.  Liver  pie,  mixed  with 
sweet  potatoes  and  fat  duff,  was  set  before  me, 
and  after  I  had  finished  a  moderate  portion, 
one  of  the  men,  turning  to  his  companion,  re- 
marked: "Wall,  I  guess  that  man  quit  eatin* 
'cause  he  had  nothin'  more  to  eat.  I  '11  get  him 
more  potato." 

Arrived  at  a  place  on  the  margin  of  a  stag- 
nant pool  where  an  alligator  had  been  rolling 
and  sunning  himself.  "See,"  said  a  man  who 
lived  here,  "  see,  what  a  track  that  is !  He  must 
have  been  a  mighty  big  fellow.  Alligators  wal- 
low like  hogs  and  like  to  lie  in  the  sun.  I  'd  like 
a  shot  at  that  fellow."  Here  followed  a  long  re- 
cital of  bloody  combats  with  the  scaly  enemy, 
in  many  of  which  he  had,  of  course,  taken  an 
important  part.  Alligators  are  said  to  be  ex- 
tremely fond  of  negroes  and  dogs,  and  natu- 
rally the  dogs  and  negroes  are  afraid  of  them. 

Another  man  that  I  met  to-day  pointed  to  a 
[96] 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

shallow,  grassy  pond  before  his  door.  "There," 
said  he,  "I  once  had  a  tough  fight  with  an  alli- 
gator. He  caught  my  dog.  I  heard  him  howl- 
ing, and  as  he  was  one  of  my  best  hunters  I 
tried  hard  to  save  him.  The  water  was  only 
about  knee-deep  and  I  ran  up  to  the  alligator. 
It  was  only  a  small  one  about  four  feet  long, 
and  was  having  trouble  in  its  efforts  to  drown 
the  dog  in  the  shallow  water.  I  scared  him  and 
made  him  let  go  his  hold,  but  before  the  poor 
crippled  dog  could  reach  the  shore,  he  was 
caught  again,  and  when  I  went  at  the  alligator 
with  a  knife,  it  seized  my  arm.  If  it  had  been  a 
little  stronger  it  might  have  eaten  me  instead 
of  my  dog." 

I  never  in  all  my  travels  saw  more  than  one, 
though  they  are  said  to  be  abundant  in  most  of 
the  swamps,  and  frequently  attain  a  length  of 
nine  or  ten  feet.  It  is  reported,  also,  that  they 
are  very  savage,  oftentimes  attacking  men  in 
boats.  These  independent  inhabitants  of  the 
sluggish  waters  of  this  low  coast  cannot  be 
called  the  friends  of  man,  though  I  heard  of 
[97] 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

one  big  fellow  that  was  caught  young  and  was 
partially  civilized  and  made  to  work  in  harness. 

Many  good  people  believe  that  alligators 
were  created  by  the  Devil,  thus  accounting  for 
their  all-consuming  appetite  and  ugliness.  But 
doubtless  these  creatures  are  happy  and  fill  the 
place  assigned  them  by  the  great  Creator  of 
us  all.  Fierce  and  cruel  they  appear  to  us,  but 
beautiful  in  the  eyes  of  God.  They,  also,  are 
his  children,  for  He  hears  their  cries,  cares  for 
them  tenderly,  and  provides  their  daily  bread. 

The  antipathies  existing  in  the  Lord's  great 
animal  family  must  be  wisely  planned,  like 
balanced  repulsion  and  attraction  in  the  min- 
eral kingdom.  How  narrow  we  selfish,  con- 
ceited creatures  are  in  our  sympathies!  how 
blind  to  the  rights  of  all  the  rest  of  creation! 
With  what  dismal  irreverence  we  speak  of  our 
fellow  mortals !  Though  alligators,  snakes,  etc., 
naturally  repel  us,  they  are  not  mysterious 
evils.  They  dwell  happily  in  these  flowery 
wilds,  are  part  of  God's  family,  unfallen,  un- 
depraved,  and  cared  for  with  the  same  species 
[93] 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

of  tenderness  and  love  as  is  bestowed  on  angels 
in  heaven  or  saints  on  earth. 

I  think  that  most  of  the  antipathies  which 
haunt  and  terrify  us  are  morbid  productions  of 
ignorance  and  weakness.  I  have  better  thoughts 
of  those  alligators  now  that  I  have  seen  them 
at  home.  Honorable  representatives  of  the 
great  saurians  of  an  older  creation,  may  you 
long  enjoy  your  lilies  and  rushes,  and  be 
blessed  now  and  then  with  a  mouthful  of  ter- 
ror-stricken man  by  way  of  dainty ! 

Found  a  beautiful  lycopodium  to-day,  and 
many  grasses  in  the  dry  sunlit  places  called 
"barrens,"  "hummocks,"  "savannas,"  etc. 
Ferns  also  are  abundant.  What  a  flood  of  heat 
and  light  is  daily  poured  out  on  these  beauti- 
ful openings  and  intertangled  woods!  "The 
land  of  the  sunny  South,"  we  say,  but  no 
part  of  our  diversified  country  is  more  shaded 
and  covered  from  sunshine.  Many  a  sunny 
sheet  of  plain  and  prairie  break  the  continuity 
of  the  forests  of  the  North  and  West,  and  the 
forests  themselves  are  mostly  lighted  also, 
[99] 


A  "Thousand- Mile  Walk 

pierced  with  direct  ray  lances,  or  [the  sun- 
light] passing  to  the  earth  and  the  lowly  plants 
in  filtered  softness  through  translucent  leaves. 
But  in  the  dense  Florida  forests  sunlight  can- 
not enter.  It  falls  on  the  evergreen  roof  and 
rebounds  in  long  silvery  lances  and  flashy 
spray.  In  many  places  there  is  not  light  suffi- 
cient to  feed  a  single  green  leaf  on  these  dark 
forest  floors.  All  that  the  eye  can  reach  is  just 
a  maze  of  tree  stems  and  crooked  leafless  vine 
strings.  All  the  flowers,  all  the  verdure,  all  the 
glory  is  up  in  the  light. 

The  streams  of  Florida  are  still  young,  and 
in  many  places  are  untraceable.  I  expected  to 
find  these  streams  a  little  discolored  from  the 
vegetable  matter  that  I  knew  they  must  con- 
tain, and  I  was  sure  that  in  so  flat  a  country  I 
should  not  find  any  considerable  falls  or  long 
rapids.  The  streams  of  upper  Georgia  are  al- 
most unapproachable  in  some  places  on  ac- 
count of  luxuriant  bordering  vines,  but  the 
banks  are  nevertheless  high  and  well  defined. 
Florida  streams  are  not  yet  possessed  of  banks 
\  ioo  1 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

and  braes  and  definite  channels.  Their  waters 
in  deep  places  are  black  as  ink,  perfectly 
opaque,  and  glossy  on  the  surface  as  if  var- 
nished. It  often  is  difficult  to  ascertain  which 
way  they  are  flowing  or  creeping,  so  slowly 
and  so  widely  do  they  circulate  through  the 
tree-tangles  and  swamps  of  the  woods.  The 
flowers  here  are  strangers  to  me,  but  not  more 
so  than  the  rivers  and  lakes.  Most  streams  ap- 
pear to  travel  through  a  country  with  thoughts 
and  plans  for  something  beyond.  But  those  of 
Florida  are  at  home,  do  not  appear  to  be  travel- 
ing at  all,  and  seem  to  know  nothing  of  the  sea. 
October  iy.  Found  a  small,  silvery-leafed 
magnolia,  a  bush  ten  feet  high.  Passed  through 
a  good  many  miles  of  open  level  pine  barrens, 
as  bounteously  lighted  as  the  "openings"  of 
Wisconsin.  The  pines  are  rather  small,  are 
planted  sparsely  and  pretty  evenly  on  these 
sandy  flats  not  long  risen  from  the  sea.  Scarcely 
a  specimen  of  any  other  tree  is  to  be  found  as- 
sociated with  the  pine.  But  there  are  some 
thickets  of  the  little  saw  palmettos  and  a  mag- 
[  ioi  ] 


A  "Thousand- Mile  Walk 

nificent  assemblage  of  tall  grasses,  their  splen- 
did panicles  waving  grandly  in  the  warm  wind, 
and  making  low  tuneful  changes  in  the  glis- 
tening light  that  is  flashed  from  their  bent 
stems. 

Not  a  pine,  not  a  palm,  in  all  this  garden 
excels  these  stately  grass  plants  in  beauty  of 
wind-waving  gestures.  Here  are  panicles  that 
are  one  mass  of  refined  purple ;  others  that  have 
flowers  as  yellow  as  ripe  oranges,  and  stems  pol- 
ished and  shining  like  steel  wire.  Some  of  the 
species  are  grouped  in  groves  and  thickets  like 
trees,  while  others  may  be  seen  waving  without 
any  companions  in  sight.  Some  of  them  have 
wide-branching  panicles  like  Kentucky  oaks, 
others  with  a  few  tassels  of  spikelets  drooping 
from  a  tall,  leafless  stem.  But  all  of  them  are 
beautiful  beyond  the  reach  of  language.  I  re- 
joice that  God  has  "so  clothed  the  grass  of  the 
field."  How  strangely  we  are  blinded  to  beauty 
and  color,  form  and  motion,  by  comparative 
size!  For  example,  we  measure  grasses  by  our 
own  stature  and  by  the  height  and  bulkiness 
[  102  ] 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

of  trees.  But  what  is  the  size  of  the  greatest 
man,  or  the  tallest  tree  that  ever  overtopped 
a  grass !  Compared  with  other  things  in  God's 
creation  the  difference  is  nothing.  We  all  are 
only  microscopic  animalcula. 

October  18.  Am  walking  on  land  that  is  almost 
dry.  The  dead  levels  are  interrupted  here  and 
there  by  sandy  waves  a  few  feet  in  height.  It 
is  said  that  not  a  point  in  all  Florida  is  more 
than  three  hundred  feet  above  sea-level  —  a 
country  where  but  little  grading  is  required  for 
roads,  but  much  bridging,  and  boring  of  many 
tunnels  through  forests. 

Before  reaching  this  open  ground,  in  a  lonely, 
swampy  place  in  the  woods,  I  met  a  large,  mus- 
cular, brawny  young  negro,  who  eyed  me  with 
glaring,  wistful  curiosity.  I  was  very  thirsty 
at  the  time,  and  inquired  of  the  man  if  there 
were  any  houses  or  springs  near  by  where  I 
could  get  a  drink.  "Oh,  yes,"  he  replied,  still 
eagerly  searching  me  with  his  wild  eyes.  Then 
,he  inquired  where  I  came  from,  where  I  was 
going,  and  what  brought  me  to  such  a  wild 
[  103  ] 


A  "Thousand- Mile  Walk 

country,  where  I  was  liable  to  be  robbed,  and 
perhaps  killed. 

"Oh,  I  am  not  afraid  of  any  one  robbing 
me,"  I  said,  "for  I  don't  carry  anything  worth 
stealing."  "Yes,"  said  he,  "but  you  can't 
travel  without  money."  I  started  to  walk  on, 
but  he  blocked  my  way.  Then  I  noticed  that  he 
was  trembling,  and  it  flashed  upon  me  all  at 
once  that  he  was  thinking  of  knocking  me  down 
in  order  to  rob  me.  After  glaring  at  my  pockets 
as  if  searching  for  weapons,  he  stammered  in 
a  quavering  voice,  "Do  you  carry  shooting- 
irons?"  His  motives,  which  I  ought  to  have 
noted  sooner,  now  were  apparent  to  me.  Though 
I  had  no  pistol,  I  instinctively  threw  my  hand 
back  to  my  pistol  pocket  and,  with  my  eyes 
fixed  on  his,  I  marched  up  close  to  him  and 
said,  "I  allow  people  to  find  out  if  I  am  armed 
or  not."  Then  he  quailed,  stepped  aside,  and 
allowed  me  to  pass,  for  fear  of  being  shot.  This 
was  evidently  a  narrow  escape. 

A  few  miles  farther  on  I  came  to  a  cotton- 
field,  to  patches  of  sugar  cane  carefully  fenced, 
[  104  1 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

and  some  respectable-looking  houses  with  gar- 
dens. These  little  fenced  fields  look  as  if  they 
were  intended  to  be  for  plants  what  cages  are 
for  birds.  Discovered  a  large,  treelike  cactus 
in  a  dooryard;  a  small  species  was  abundant 
on  the  sand-hillocks.  Reached  Gainesville  late 
in  the  night. 

When  within  three  or  four  miles  of  the  town 
I  noticed  a  light  off  in  the  pine  woods.  As  I  was 
very  thirsty,  I  thought  I  would  venture  toward 
it  with  the  hope  of  obtaining  water.  In  creep- 
ing cautiously  and  noiselessly  through  the 
grass  to  discover  whether  or  no  it  was  a  camp 
of  robber  negroes,  I  came  suddenly  in  full  view 
of  the  best-lighted  and  most  primitive  of  all 
the  domestic  establishments  I  have  yet  seen 
in  town  or  grove.  There  was,  first  of  all,  a  big, 
glowing  log  fire,  illuminating  the  overleaning 
bushes  and  trees,  bringing  out  leaf  and  spray 
with  more  than  noonday  distinctness,  and 
making  still  darker  the  surrounding  wood.  In 
the  center  of  this  globe  of  light  sat  two  negroes. 
I  could  see  their  ivory  gleaming  from  the  great 
[  ios  1 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

lips,  and  their  smooth  cheeks  flashing  off  light 
as  if  made  of  glass.  Seen  anywhere  but  in  the 
South,  the  glossy  pair  would  have  been  taken 
for  twin  devils,  but  here  it  was  only  a  negro 
and  his  wife  at  their  supper. 

I  ventured  forward  to  the  radiant  presence 
of  the  black  pair,  and,  after  being  stared  at 
with  that  desperate  fixedness  which  is  said  to 
subdue  the  lion,  I  was  handed  water  in  a  gourd 
from  somewhere  out  of  the  darkness.  I  was 
standing  for  a  moment  beside  the  big  fire,  look- 
ing at  the  unsurpassable  simplicity  of  the  es- 
tablishment, and  asking  questions  about  the 
road  to  Gainesville,  when  my  attention  was 
called  to  a  black  lump  of  something  lying  in 
the  ashes  of  the  fire.  It  seemed  to  be  made 
of  rubber;  but  ere  I  had  time  for  much  specu- 
lation, the  woman  bent  wooingly  over  the 
black  object  and  said  with  motherly  kindness, 
"Come,  honey,  eat  yo'  hominy." 

At  the  sound  of  " hominy"  the  rubber  gave 
strong  manifestations  of  vitality  and  proved  to 
be  a  burly  little  negro  boy,  rising  from  the  earth 
[  106] 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

naked  as  to  the  earth  he  came.  Had  he  emerged 
from  the  black  muck  of  a  marsh,  we  might  eas- 
ily have  believed  that  the  Lord  had  manufac- 
tured him  like  Adam  direct  from  the  earth. 

Surely,  thought  I,  as  I  started  for  Gaines- 
ville, surely  I  am  now  coming  to  the  tropics, 
where  the  inhabitants  wear  nothing  but  their 
own  skins.  This  fashion  is  sufficiently  simple, 
—  "no  troublesome  disguises,"  as  Milton  calls 
clothing,  —  but  it  certainly  is  not  quite  in  har- 
mony with  Nature.  Birds  make  nests  and 
nearly  all  beasts  make  some  kind  of  bed  for  their 
young;  but  these  negroes  allow  their  younglings 
to  lie  nestless  and  naked  in  the  dirt. 

Gainesville  is  rather  attractive  —  an  oasis 
in  the  desert,  compared  with  other  villages. 
Its  gets  its  life  from  the  few  plantations  located 
about  it  on  dry  ground  that  rises  islandlike  a 
few  feet  above  the  swamps.  Obtained  food  and 
lodging  at  a  sort  of  tavern. 

October  ig.  Dry  land  nearly  all  day.  Encoun- 
tered limestone,  flint,  coral,  shells,  etc.  Passed 
several  thrifty  cotton  plantations  with  com- 
[  107  ] 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 

fortable  residences,  contrasting  sharply  with 
the  squalid  hovels  of  my  first  days  in  Florida. 
Found  a  single  specimen  of  a  handsome  little 
plant,  which  at  once,  in  some  mysterious  way, 
brought  to  mind  a  young  friend  in  Indiana. 
How  wonderfully  our  thoughts  and  impressions 
are  stored!  There  is  that  in  the  glance  of  a 
flower  which  may  at  times  control  the  greatest 
of  creation's  braggart  lords. 

The  magnolia  is  much  more  abundant  here. 
It  forms  groves  and  almost  exclusively  forests 
the  edges  of  ponds  and  the  banks  of  streams. 
The  easy,  dignified  simplicity  of  this  noble  tree, 
its  plain  leaf  endowed  with  superb  richness  of 
color  and  form,  its  open  branches  festooned  with 
graceful  vines  and  tillandsia,  its  showy  crim- 
son fruit,  and  its  magnificent  fragrant  white 
flowers  make  Magnolia  grandiflora  the  most 
lovable  of  Florida  trees. 

Discovered  a  great  many  beautiful  poly- 
gonums, petalostemons,  and  yellow  leguminous 
vines.  Passed  over  fine  sunny  areas  of  the  long- 
leafed  and  Cuban  pines,  which  were  every- 
[  108  ] 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

where  accompanied  by  fine  grasses  and  solida- 
goes.  Wild  orange  groves  are  said  to  be  rather 
common  here,  but  I  have  seen  only  limes  grow- 
ing wild  in  the  woods. 

Came  to  a  hut  about  noon,  and,  being  weary 
and  hungry,  asked  if  I  could  have  dinner.  After 
serious  consultation  I  was  told  to  wait,  that 
dinner  would  soon  be  ready.  I  saw  only  the 
man  and  his  wife.  If  they  had  children,  they 
may  have  been  hidden  in  the  weeds  on  account 
of  nakedness.  Both  were  suffering  from  ma- 
larial fever,  and  were  very  dirty.  But  they  did 
not  appear  to  have  any  realizing  sense  of  dis- 
comfort from  either  the  one  or  the  other  of 
these  misfortunes.  The  dirt  which  encircled 
the  countenances  of  these  people  did  not,  like 
the  common  dirt  of  the  North,  stick  on  the 
skin  in  bold  union  like  plaster  or  paint,  but 
appeared  to  stand  out  a  little  on  contact  like  a 
hazy,  misty,  half-aerial  mud  envelope,  the  most 
diseased  and  incurable  dirt  that  I  ever  saw, 
evidently  desperately  chronic  and  hereditary. 

It  seems  impossible  that  children  from  such 
[  109  ] 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 

parents  could  ever  be  clean.  Dirt  and  dis- 
ease are  dreadful  enough  when  separate,  but 
combined  are  inconceivably  horrible.  The 
neat  cottage  with  a  fragrant  circumference  of 
thyme  and  honeysuckle  is  almost  unknown 
here.  I  have  seen  dirt  on  garments  regularly 
stratified,  the  various  strata  no  doubt  indi- 
cating different  periods  of  life.  Some  of  them, 
perhaps,  were  annual  layers,  furnishing,  like 
those  of  trees,  a  means  of  determining  the 
age.  Man  and  other  civilized  animals  are  the 
only  creatures  that  ever  become  dirty. 

Slept  in  the  barrens  at  the  side  of  a  log.  Suf- 
fered from  cold  and  was  drenched  with  dew. 
What  a  comfort  a  companion  would  be  in  the 
dark  loneliness  of  such  nights!  Did  not  dare 
to  make  a  fire  for  fear  of  discovery  by  robber 
negroes,  who,  I  was  warned,  would  kill  a  man 
for  a  dollar  or  two.  Had  a  long  walk  after  night- 
fall, hoping  to  discover  a  house.  Became  very 
thirsty  and  often  was  compelled  to  drink  from 
slimy  pools  groped  for  in  the  grass,  with  the 
fear  of  alligators  before  my  eyes. 
[  no] 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

October  20.  Swamp  very  dense  during  this 
day's  journey.  Almost  one  continuous  sheet 
of  water  covered  with  aquatic  trees  and  vines. 
No  stream  that  I  crossed  to-day  appeared  to 
have  the  least  idea  where  it  was  going.  Saw 
an  alligator  plash  into  the  sedgy  brown  water 
by  the  roadside  from  an  old  log. 

Arrived  at  night  at  the  house  of  Captain 
Simmons,  one  of  the  very  few  scholarly,  intel- 
ligent men  that  I  have  met  in  Florida.  He  had 
been  an  officer  in  the  Confederate  army  in  the 
war  and  was,  of  course,  prejudiced  against  the 
North,  but  polite  and  kind  to  me,  nevertheless. 
Our  conversation,  as  we  sat  by  the  light  of  the 
fire,  was  on  the  one  great  question,  slavery 
and  its  concomitants.  I  managed,  however,  to 
switch  off  to  something  more  congenial  occa- 
sionally —  the  birds  of  the  neighborhood,  the 
animals,  the  climate,  and  what  spring,  summer, 
and  winter  are  like  in  these  parts. 

About  the  climate,  I  could  not  get  much  in- 
formation, as  he  had  always  lived  in  the  South 
and,  of  course,  saw  nothing  extraordinary  in 
[  in  1 


A  "Thousand-Mile  Walk 

weather  to  which  he  had  always  been  accus- 
tomed. But  in  speaking  of  animals,  he  at  once 
became  enthusiastic  and  told  many  stories  of 
hairbreadth  escapes,  in  the  woods  about  his 
house,  from  bears,  hungry  alligators,  wounded 
deer,  etc.  "And  now,"  said  he,  forgetting  in  his 
kindness  that  I  was  from  the  hated  North, 
"you  must  stay  with  me  a  few  days.  Deer  are 
abundant.  I  will  lend  you  a  rifle  and  we'll  go 
hunting.  I  hunt  whenever  I  wish  venison,  and 
I  can  get  it  about  as  easily  from  the  woods 
near  by  as  a  shepherd  can  get  mutton  out  of 
his  flock.  And  perhaps  we  will  see  a  bear,  for 
they  are  far  from  scarce  here,  and  there  are 
some  big  gray  wolves,  too." 

I  expressed  a  wish  to  see  some  large  alli- 
gators. "Oh,  well,"  said  he,  "I  can  take  you 
where  you  will  see  plenty  of  those  fellows,  but 
they  are  not  much  to  look  at.  I  once  got  a  good 
look  at  an  alligator  that  was  lying  at  the  bottom 
of  still,  transparent  water,  and  I  think  that  his 
eyes  were  the  most  impressively  cold  and  cruel 
of  any  animal  I  have  seen.  Many  alligators  go 
[  112  1 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

out  to  sea  among  the  keys.  These  sea  alli- 
gators are  the  largest  and  most  ferocious,  and 
sometimes  attack  people  by  trying  to  strike 
them  with  their  tails  when  they  are  out  fishing 
in  boats. 

"Another  thing  I  wish  you  to  see,"  he  con- 
tinued, "is  a  palmetto  grove  on  a  rich  hum- 
mock a  few  miles  from  here.  The  grove  is 
about  seven  miles  in  length  by  three  in  breadth. 
The  ground  is  covered  with  long  grass,  unin- 
terrupted with  bushes  or  other  trees.  It  is  the 
finest  grove  of  palmettos  I  have  ever  seen  and 
I  have  oftentimes  thought  that  it  would  make 
a  fine  subject  for  an  artist." 

I  concluded  to  stop  —  more  to  see  this  won- 
derful palmetto  hummock  than  to  hunt.  Be- 
sides, I  was  weary  and  the  prospect  of  getting 
a  little  rest  was  a  tempting  consideration  after 
so  many  restless  nights  and  long,  hard  walks 
by  day. 

October  21.  Having  outlived  the  sangui- 
nary hunters'  tales  of  my  loquacious  host,  and 
breakfasted  sumptuously  on  fresh  venison  and 
1  113  ] 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 

"caller"  fish  from  the  sea,  I  set  out  for  the 
grand  palm  grove.  I  had  seen  these  dazzling 
sun-children  in  every  day  of  my  walk  through 
Florida,  but  they  were  usually  standing  soli- 
tary, or  in  groups  of  three  or  four;  but  to-day 
I  was  to  see  them  by  the  mile.  The  captain 
led  me  a  short  distance  through  his  corn  field 
and  showed  me  a  trail  which  would  conduct 
me  to  the  palmy  hummock.  He  pointed  out 
the  general  direction,  which  I  noted  upon  my 
compass. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "at  the  other  side  of  my 
farthest  field  you  will  come  to  a  jungle  of  cat- 
briers,  but  will  be  able  to  pass  them  if  you 
manage  to  keep  the  trail.  You  will  find  that 
the  way  is  not  by  any  means  well  marked,  for 
in  passing  through  a  broad  swamp,  the  trail 
makes  a  good  many  abrupt  turns  to  avoid  deep 
water,  fallen  trees,  or  impenetrable  thickets. 
You  will  have  to  wade  a  good  deal,  and  in  pass- 
ing the  water-covered  places  you  will  have  to 
watch  for  the  point  where  the  trail  comes  out 
on  the  opposite  side." 

[114] 


A    FLORIDA   PALMETTO    HUMMOCK,  OR    "HAMMOCK 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

I  made  my  way  through  the  briers,  which  in 
strength  and  ferocity  equaled  those  of  Tennes- 
see,'followed  the  path  through  all  of  its  dim 
waverings,  waded  the  many  opposing  pools, 
and,  emerging  suddenly  from  the  leafy  dark- 
ness of  the  swamp  forest,  at  last  stood  free 
and  unshaded  on  the  border  of  the  sun-drenched 
palm  garden.  It  was  a  level  area  of  grasses  and 
sedges,  smooth  as  a  prairie,  well  starred  with 
flowers,  and  bounded  like  a  clearing  by  a  wall 
of  vine-laden  trees. 

The  palms  had  full  possession  and  appeared 
to  enjoy  their  sunny  home.  There  was  no 
jostling,  no  apparent  effort  to  outgrow  each 
other.  Abundance  of  sunlight  was  there  for 
every  crown,  and  plenty  to  fall  between.  I 
walked  enchanted  in  their  midst.  What  a 
landscape!  Only  palms  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach!  Smooth  pillars  rising  from  the  grass, 
each  capped  with  a  sphere  of  leaves,  shining 
in  the  sun  as  bright  as  a  star.  The  silence  and 
calm  were  as  deep  as  ever  I  found  in  the  dark, 
solemn  pine  woods  of  Canada,  and  that  con- 
[  «S] 


A  "Thousand- Mile  Walk 

tentment  which  is  an  attribute  of  the  best  of 
God's  plant  people  was  as  impressively  felt 
in  this  alligator  wilderness  as  in  the  homes  of 
the  happy,  healthy  people  of  the  North. 

The  admirable  Linnaeus  calls  palms  "the 
princes  of  the  vegetable  world."  I  know  that 
there  is  grandeur  and  nobility  in  their  char- 
acter, and  that  there  are  palms  nobler  far  than 
these.  But  in  rank  they  appear  to  me  to  stand 
below  both  the  oak  and  the  pine.  The  motions 
of  the  palms,  their  gestures,  are  not  very  grace- 
ful. They  appear  to  best  advantage  when  per- 
fectly motionless  in  the  noontide  calm  and  in- 
tensity of  light.  But  they  rustle  and  rock  in 
the  evening  wind.  I  have  seen  grasses  waving 
with  far  more  dignity.  And  when  our  northern 
pines  are  waving  and  bowing  in  sign  of  wor- 
ship with  the  winter  storm-winds,  where  is  the 
prince  of  palms  that  could  have  the  conscience 
to  demand  their  homage! 

Members  of  this  palm  congregation  were  of 
all  sizes  with  respect  to  their  stems;  but  their 
glorious  crowns  were  all  alike.  In  develop- 
[116] 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

ment  there  is  only  the  terminal  bud  to  con- 
sider. The  young  palm  of  this  species  emerges 
from  the  ground  in  full  strength,  one  cluster 
of  leaves  arched  every  way,  making  a  sphere 
about  ten  or  twelve  feet  in  diameter.  The  out- 
side lower  leaves  gradually  become  yellow, 
wither,  and  break  off,  the  petiole  snapping 
squarely  across,  a  few  inches  from  the  stem. 
New  leaves  develop  with  wonderful  rapidity. 
They  stand  erect  at  first,  but  gradually  arch 
outward  as  they  expand  their  blades  and 
lengthen  their  petioles. 

New  leaves  arise  constantly  from  the  center 
of  the  grand  bud,  while  old  ones  break  away 
from  the  outside.  The  splendid  crowns  are 
thus  kept  about  the  same  size,  perhaps  a  little 
larger  than  in  youth  while  they  are  yet  on  the 
ground.  As  the  development  of  the  central 
axis  goes  on,  the  crown  is  gradually  raised  on  a 
stem  of  about  six  to  twelve  inches  in  diameter. 
This  stem  is  of  equal  thickness  at  the  top  and 
at  the  bottom  and  when  young  is  roughened 
with  the  broken  petioles.  But  these  petiole- 
[  117] 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

stumps  fall  off  and  disappear  as  they  become 
old,  and  the  trunk  becomes  smooth  as  if  turned 
in  a  lathe. 

After  some  hours  in  this  charming  forest  I 
started  on  the  return  journey  before  night, 
on  account  of  the  difficulties  of  the  swamp  and 
the  brier  patch.  On  leaving  the  palmettos  and 
entering  the  vine-tangled,  half-submerged  for- 
est I  sought  long  and  carefully,  but  in  vain,  for 
the  trail,  for  I  had  drifted  about  too  incau- 
tiously in  search  of  plants.  But,  recollecting 
the  direction  that  I  had  followed  in  the  morn- 
ing, I  took  a  compass  bearing  and  started  to 
penetrate  the  swamp  in  a  direct  line. 

Of  course  I  had  a  sore  weary  time,  pushing 
through  the  tanglement  of  falling,  standing,  and 
half-fallen  trees  and  bushes,  to  say  nothing  of 
knotted  vines  as  remarkable  for  their  efficient 
army  of  interlocking  and  lancing  prickers  as  for 
their  length  and  the  number  of  their  blossoms. 
But  these  were  not  my  greatest  obstacles,  nor 
yet  the  pools  and  lagoons  full  of  dead  leaves 
and  alligators.  It  was  the  army  of  cat-briers 
[  n8  ] 


aJ~~ 


/?%,f..  t^rC^  f*^ 


PAGE  OF   JOURNAL  WITH   SKETCH    SHOWING   PALMETTOS   IN 
DIFFERENT   STAGES   OF   DEVELOPMENT 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

that  I  most  dreaded.  I  knew  that  I  would  have 
to  find  the  narrow  slit  of  a  lane  before  dark  or 
spend  the  night  with  mosquitoes  and  alligators, 
without  food  or  fire.  The  entire  distance  was 
not  great,  but  a  traveler  in  open  woods  can  form 
no  idea  of  the  crooked  and  strange  difficulties 
of  pathless  locomotion  in  these  thorny,  watery 
Southern  tangles,  especially  in  pitch  darkness. 
I  struggled  hard  and  kept  my  course,  leaving 
the  general  direction  only  when  drawn  aside 
by  a  plant  of  extraordinary  promise,  that  I 
wanted  for  a  specimen,  or  when  I  had  to  make 
the  half-circuit  of  a  pile  of  trees,  or  of  a  deep 
lagoon  or  pond. 

In  wading  I  never  attempted  to  keep  my 
clothes  dry,  because  the  water  was  too  deep, 
and  the  necessary  care  would  consume  too  much 
time.  Had  the  water  that  I  was  forced  to  wade 
been  transparent  it  would  have  lost  much  of  its 
difficulty.  But  as  it  was,  I  constantly  expected 
to  plant  my  feet  on  an  alligator,  and  therefore 
proceeded  with  strained  caution.  The  opacity 
of  the  water  caused  uneasiness  also  on  account 
1  119] 


A  "Thousand- Mile  Walk 

of  my  inability  to  determine  its  depth.  In  many 
places  I  was  compelled  to  turn  back,  after 
wading  forty  or  fifty  yards,  and  to  try  again 
a  score  of  times  before  I  succeeded  in  getting 
across  a  single  lagoon. 

At  length,  after  miles  of  wading  and  wallow- 
ing, I  arrived  at  the  grand  cat-brier  encamp- 
ment which  guarded  the  whole  forest  in  solid 
phalanx,  unmeasured  miles  up  and  down  across 
my  way.  Alas!  the  trail  by  which  I  had  crossed 
in  the  morning  was  not  to  be  found,  and  night 
was  near.  In  vain  I  scrambled  back  and  forth 
in  search  of  an  opening.  There  was  not  even  a 
strip  of  dry  ground  on  which  to  rest.  Every- 
where the  long  briers  arched  over  to  the  vines 
and  bushes  of  the  watery  swamp,  leaving 
no  standing-ground  between  them.  I  began  to 
think  of  building  some  sort  of  a  scaffold  in  a 
tree  to  rest  on  through  the  night,  but  concluded 
to  make  one  more  desperate  effort  to  find  the 
narrow  track. 

After  calm,  concentrated  recollection  of  my 
course,  I  made  a  long  exploration  toward  the 
[  120  ] 


Florida  Swamps  and  Forests 

left  down  the  brier  line,  and  after  scrambling  a 
mile  or  so,  perspiring  and  bleeding,  I  discov- 
ered the  blessed  trail  and  escaped  to  dry  land 
and  the  light.  Reached  the  captain  at  sun- 
down. Dined  on  milk  and  johnny-cake  and 
fresh  venison.  Was  congratulated  on  my  sin- 
gular good  fortune  and  woodcraft,  and  soon 
after  supper  was  sleeping  the  deep  sleep  of 
the  weary  and  the  safe. 

October  22.  This  morning  I  was  easily  pre- 
vailed upon  by  the  captain  and  an  ex-judge, 
who  was  rusticating  here,  to  join  in  a  deer  hunt. 
Had  a  delightful  ramble  in  the  long  grass  and 
flowery  barrens.  Started  one  deer  but  did  not 
draw  a  single  shot.  The  captain,  the  judge, 
and  myself  stood  at  different  stations  where  the 
deer  was  expected  to  pass,  while  a  brother  of  the 
captain  entered  the  woods  to  arouse  the  game 
from  cover.  The  one  deer  that  he  started  took 
a  direction  different  from  any  which  this  par- 
ticular old  buck  had  ever  been  known  to  take 
in  times  past,  and  in  so  doing  was  cordially 

cursed  as  being  the  "d dest  deer  that  ever 

[  121  ] 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 

ran  unshot."  To  me  it  appeared  as  "  d dest " 

work  to  slaughter  God's  cattle  for  sport.  "They 
were  made  for  us,"  say  these  self-approving 
preachers;  "for  our  food,  our  recreation,  or 
other  uses  not  yet  discovered."  As  truthfully 
we  might  say  on  behalf  of  a  bear,  when  he 
deals  successfully  with  an  unfortunate  hunter, 
"Men  and  other  bipeds  were  made  for  bears, 
and  thanks  be  to  God  for  claws  and  teeth  so 
long." 

Let  a  Christian  hunter  go  to  the  Lord's 
woods  and  kill  his  well-kept  beasts,  or  wild  In- 
dians, and  it  is  well;  but  let  an  enterprising 
specimen  of  these  proper,  predestined  victims 
go  to  houses  and  fields  and  kill  the  most  worth- 
less person  of  the  vertical  godlike  killers, — 
oh!  that  is  horribly  unorthodox,  and  on  the 
part  of  the  Indians  atrocious  murder!  Well, 
I  have  precious  little  sympathy  for  the  selfish 
propriety  of  civilized  man,  and  if  a  war  of  races 
should  occur  between  the  wild  beasts  and  Lord 
Man,  I  would  be  tempted  to  sympathize  with 
the  bears. 


CHAPTER  VI 

CEDAR  KEYS 

OCTOBER  23.  To-day  I  reached  the 
sea.  While  I  was  yet  many  miles  back 
in  the  palmy  woods,  I  caught  the 
scent  of  the  salt  sea  breeze  which,  although  I 
had  so  many  years  lived  far  from  sea  breezes, 
suddenly  conjured  up  Dunbar,  its  rocky  coast, 
winds  and  waves;  and  my  whole  childhood, 
that  seemed  to  have  utterly  vanished  in  the 
New  World,  was  now  restored  amid  the  Florida 
woods  by  that  one  breath  from  the  sea.  For- 
gotten were  the  palms  and  magnolias  and  the 
thousand  flowers  that  enclosed  me.  I  could 
see  only  dulse  and  tangle,  long-winged  gulls, 
the  Bass  Rock  in  the  Firth  of  Forth,  and  the 
old  castle,  schools,  churches,  and  long  coun- 
try rambles  in  search  of  birds'  nests.  I  do  not 
wonder  that  the  weary  camels  coming  from 
the  scorching  African  deserts  should  be  able  to 
scent  the  Nile. 

[  123  1 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

How  imperishable  are  all  the  impressions 
that  ever  vibrate  one's  life !  We  cannot  forget 
anything.  Memories  may  escape  the  action  of 
will,  may  sleep  a  long  time,  but  when  stirred 
by  the  right  influence,  though  that  influence  be 
light  as  a  shadow,  they  flash  into  full  stature 
and  life  with  everything  in  place.  For  nineteen 
years  my  vision  was  bounded  by  forests,  but 
to-day,  emerging  from  a  multitude  of  tropical 
plants,  I  beheld  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  stretching 
away  unbounded,  except  by  the  sky.  What 
dreams  and  speculative  matter  for  thought 
arose  as  I  stood  on  the  strand,  gazing  out  on 
the  burnished,  treeless  plain! 

But  now  at  the  seaside  I  was  in  difficulty.  I 
had  reached  a  point  that  I  could  not  ford,  and 
Cedar  Keys  had  an  empty  harbor.  Would  I  pro- 
ceed down  the  peninsula  to  Tampa  and  Key 
West,  where  I  would  be  sure  to  find  a  vessel 
for  Cuba,  or  would  I  wait  here,  like  Crusoe,  and 
pray  for  a  ship.  Full  of  these  thoughts,  I 
stepped  into  a  little  store  which  had  a  con- 
siderable trade  in  quinine  and  alligator  and 
[  124  ] 


Cedar  Keys 


rattlesnake  skins,  and  inquired  about  shipping, 
means  of  travel,  etc. 

The  proprietor  informed  me  that  one  of  sev- 
eral sawmills  near  the  village  was  running,  and 
that  a  schooner  chartered  to  carry  a  load  of 
lumber  to  Galveston,  Texas,  was  expected  at 
the  mills  for  a  load.  This  mill  was  situated  on 
a  tongue  of  land  a  few  miles  along  the  coast 
from  Cedar  Keys,  and  I  determined  to  see  Mr. 
Hodgson,  the  owner,  to  find  out  particulars 
about  the  expected  schooner,  the  time  she 
would  take  to  load,  whether  I  would  be  likely 
to  obtain  passage  on  her,  etc. 

Found  Mr.  Hodgson  at  his  mill.  Stated  my 
case,  and  was  kindly  furnished  the  desired  in- 
formation. I  determined  to  wait  the  two  weeks 
likely  to  elapse  before  she  sailed,  and  go  on  her 
to  the  flowery  plains  of  Texas,  from  any  of 
whose  ports,  I  fancied,  I  could  easily  find  pas- 
sage to  the  West  Indies.  I  agreed  to  work  for 
Mr.  Hodgson  in  the  mill  until  I  sailed,  as  I  had 
but  little  money.  He  invited  me  to  his  spacious 
house,  which  occupied  a  shell  hillock  and  com- 
[125] 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 

manded  a  fine  view  of  the  Gulf  and  many  gems 
of  palmy  islets,  called  "keys/*  that  fringe  the 
shore  like  huge  bouquets  —  not  too  big,  how- 
ever, for  the  spacious  waters.  Mr.  Hodgson's 
family  welcomed  me  with  that  open,  uncon- 
strained cordiality  which  is  characteristic  of  the 
better  class  of  Southern  people. 

At  the  sawmill  a  new  cover  had  been  put  on 
the  main  driving  pulley,  which,  made  of  rough 
plank,  had  to  be  turned  off  and  smoothed. 
He  asked  me  if  I  was  able  to  do  this  job  and  I 
told  him  that  I  could.  Fixing  a  rest  and  mak- 
ing a  tool  out  of  an  old  file,  I  directed  the  engi- 
neer to  start  the  engine  and  run  slow.  After 
turning  down  the  pulley  and  getting  it  true, 
I  put  a  keen  edge  on  a  common  carpenter's 
plane,  quickly  finished  the  job,  and  was  assigned 
a  bunk  in  one  of  the  employees'  lodging-houses. 

The  next  day  I  felt  a  strange  dullness  and 
headache  while  I  was  botanizing  along  the  coast. 
Thinking  that  a  bath  in  the  salt  water  might 
refresh  me,  I  plunged  in  and  swam  a  little  dis- 
tance, but  this  seemed  only  to  make  me  feel 
[  126] 


Cedar  Keys 


worse.  I  felt  anxious  for  something  sour,  and 
walked  back  to  the  village  to  buy  lemons. 

Thus  and  here  my  long  walk  was  interrupted. 
I  thought  that  a  few  days'  sail  would  land  me 
among  the  famous  flower-beds  of  Texas.  But 
the  expected  ship  came  and  went  while  I  was 
helpless  with  fever.  The  very  day  after  reach- 
ing the  sea  I  began  to  be  weighed  down  by  in- 
exorable leaden  numbness,  which  I  resisted  and 
tried  to  shake  off  for  three  days,  by  bathing  in 
the  Gulf,  by  dragging  myself  about  among  the 
palms,  plants,  and  strange  shells  of  the  shore, 
and  by  doing  a  little  mill  work.  I  did  not  fear 
any  serious  illness,  for  I  never  was  sick  before, 
and  was  unwilling  to  pay  attention  to  my  feel- 
ings. 

But  yet  heavier  and  more  remorselessly 
pressed  the  growing  fever,  rapidly  gaining  on 
my  strength.  On  the  third  day  after  my  arrival 
I  could  not  take  any  nourishment,  but  craved 
acid.  Cedar  Keys  was  only  a  mile  or  two  dis- 
tant, and  I  managed  to  walk  there  to  buy 
lemons.  On  returning,  about  the  middle  of  the 
[  127  ] 


A  "Thousand- Mile  Walk 

afternoon,  the  fever  broke  on  me  like  a  storm, 
and  before  I  had  staggered  halfway  to  the  mill 
I  fell  down  unconscious  on  the  narrow  trail 
among  dwarf  palmettos. 

When  I  awoke  from  the  hot  fever  sleep,  the 
stars  were  shining,  and  I  was  at  a  loss  to  know 
which  end  of  the  trail  to  take,  but  fortunately, 
as  it  afterwards  proved,  I  guessed  right.  Sub- 
sequently, as  Lfell  again  and  again  after  walk- 
ing only  a  hundred  yards  or  so,  I  was  careful 
to  lie  with  my  head  in  the  direction  in  which 
I  thought  the  mill  was.  I  rose,  staggered,  and 
fell,  I  know  not  how  many  times,  in  delirious 
bewilderment,  gasping  and  throbbing  with  only 
moments  of  consciousness.  Thus  passed  the 
hours  till  after  midnight,  when  I  reached  the 
mill  lodging-house. 

The  watchman  on  his  rounds  found  me  lying 
on  a  heap  of  sawdust  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
I  asked  him  to  assist  me  up  the  steps  to  bed, 
but  he  thought  my  difficulty  was  only  intoxica- 
tion and  refused  to  help  me.  The  mill  hands, 
especially  on  Saturday  nights,  often  returned 
1  128  ] 


Cedar  Keys 


from  the  village  drunk.  This  was  the  cause  of 
the  watchman's  refusal.  Feeling  that  I  must 
get  to  bed,  I  made  out  to  reach  it  on  hands  and 
knees,  tumbled  in  after  a  desperate  struggle,  and 
immediately  became  oblivious  to  everything. 

I  awoke  at  a  strange  hour  on  a  strange  day 
to  hear  Mr.  Hodgson  ask  a  watcher  beside 
me  whether  I  had  yet  spoken,  and  when  he 
replied  that  I  had  not,  he  said:  "Well,  you  must 
keep  on  pouring  in  quinine.  That's  all  we  can 
do."  How  long  I  lay  unconscious  I  never 
found  out,  but  it  must  have  been  many  days. 
Some  time  or  other  I  was  moved  on  a  horse 
from  the  mill  quarters  to  Mr.  Hodgson's  house, 
where  I  was  nursed  about  three  months  with 
unfailing  kindness,  and  to  the  skill  and  care  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hodgson  I  doubtless  owe  my  life. 
Through  quinine  and  calomel —  in  sorry  abun- 
dance —  with  other  milder  medicines,  my  ma- 
larial fever  became  typhoid.  I  had  night 
sweats,  and  my  legs  became  like  posts  of  the 
temper  and  consistency  of  clay  on  account  of 
dropsy.  So  on  until  January,  a  weary  time. 
[  129  ] 


A  "Thousand-Mile  JValk 

As  soon  as  I  was  able  to  get  out  of  bed,  I  crept 
away  to  the  edge  of  the  wood,  and  sat  day  after 
day  beneath  a  moss-draped  live-oak,  watching 
birds  feeding  on  the  shore  when  the  tide  was 
out.  Later,  as  I  gathered  some  strength,  I 
sailed  in  a  little  skiff  from  one  key  to  another. 
Nearly  all  the  shrubs  and  trees  here  are  ever- 
green, and  a  few  of  the  smaller  plants  are  in 
flower  all  winter.  The  principal  trees  on  this 
Cedar  Key  are  the  juniper,  long-leafed  pine, 
and  live-oak.  All  of  the  latter,  living  and  dead, 
are  heavily  draped  with  tillandsia,  like  those 
of  Bonaventure.  The  leaf  is  oval,  about  two 
inches  long,  three  fourths  of  an  inch  wide, 
glossy  and  dark  green  above,  pale  beneath. 
The  trunk  is  usually  much  divided,  and  is  ex- 
tremely unwedgeable.  The  specimen  on  the  op- 
posite page 1  is  growing  in  the  dooryard  of  Mr. 
Hodgson's  house.  It  is  a  grand  old  king,  whose 
crown  gleamed  in  the  bright  sky  long  ere  the 
Spanish  shipbuilders  felled  a  single  tree  of  this 
noble  species. 

1  Of  the  original  journal. 
[  130  1 


Cedar  Keys 


The  live-oaks  of  these  keys  divide  empire 
with  the  long-leafed  pine  and  palmetto,  but  in 
many  places  on  the  mainland  there  are  large 
tracts  exclusively  occupied  by  them.  Like  the 
Bonaventure  oaks  they  have  the  upper  side  of 
their  main  spreading  branches  thickly  planted 
with  ferns,  grasses,  small  saw  palmettos,  etc. 
There  is  also  a  dwarf  oak  here,  which  forms 
dense  thickets.  The  oaks  of  this  key  are  not, 
like  those  of  the  Wisconsin  openings,  growing 
on  grassy  slopes,  but  stand,  sunk  to  the  shoul- 
ders, in  flowering  magnolias,  heathworts,  etc. 
I  During  my  long  sojourn  here  as  a  convales- 
cent I  used  to  lie  on  my  back  for  whole  days 
beneath  the  ample  arms  of  these  great  trees, 
listening  to  the  winds  and  the  birds.  There 
is  an  extensive  shallow  on  the  coast,  close  by, 
which  the  receding  tide  exposes  daily.  This  is 
the  feeding-ground  of  thousands  of  waders  of 
all  sizes,  plumage,  and  language,  and  they 
make  a  lively  picture  and  noise  when  they 
gather  at  the  great  family  board  to  eat  their 
daily  bread,  so  bountifully  provided  for  them. 
[  131  1 


A  "Thousand- Mile  Walk 

Their  leisure  in  time  of  high  tide  they  spend 
in  various  ways  and  places.  Some  go  in  large 
flocks  to  reedy  margins  about  the  islands  and 
wade  and  stand  about  quarrelling  or  making 
sport,  occasionally  finding  a  stray  mouthful  to 
eat.  Some  stand  on  the  mangroves  of  the  soli- 
tary shore,  now  and  then  plunging  into  the 
water  after  a  fish.  Some  go  long  journeys  in- 
land, up  creeks  and  inlets.  [A  few  lonely  old 
herons  of  solemn  look  and  wing  retire  to  favor- 
ite oaks.  It  was  my  delight  to  watch  those 
old  white  sages  of  immaculate  feather  as  they 
stood  erect  drowsing  away  the  dull  hours  be- 
tween tides,  curtained  by  long  skeins  of  til- 
landsia.  White-bearded  hermits  gazing  dream- 
ily from  dark  caves  could  not  appear  more  sol- 
emn or  more  becomingly  shrouded  from  the 
rest  of  their  fellow  beings. 

One  of  the  characteristic  plants  of  these  keys 
is  the  Spanish  bayonet,  a  species  of  yucca, 
about  eight  or  ten  feet  in  height,  and  with  a 
trunk  three  or  four  inches  in  diameter  when 
full  grown.  It  belongs  to  the  lily  family  and 
[  132  1 


Cedar  Key: 


develops  palmlike  from  terminal  buds.  The 
stout  leaves  are  very  rigid,  sharp-pointed  and 
bayonet-like.  By  one  of  these  leaves  a  man 
might  be  as  seriously  stabbed  as  by  an  army 
bayonet,  and  woe  to  the  luckless  wanderer  who 
dares  to  urge  his  way  through  these  armed 
gardens  after  dark.  Vegetable  cats  of  many 
species  will  rob  him  of  his  clothes  and  claw  his 
flesh,  while  dwarf  palmettos  will  saw  his  bones, 
and  the  bayonets  will  glide  to  his  joints  and 
marrow  without  the  smallest  consideration  for 
Lord  Man. 

The  climate  of  these  precious^islets  is  sim- 
ply warm  summer  and  warmer  summer,  corre- 
sponding in  time  with  winter  and  summer  in  the 
North.  The  weather  goes  smoothly  over  the 
points  of  union  betwixt  the  twin  summers.  Few 
of  the  storms  are  very  loud  or  variable.  The 
average  temperature  during  the  day,  in  De- 
cember, was  about  sixty-five  degrees  in  the 
shade,  but  on  one  day  a  little  damp  snow  fell. 

Cedar  Key  is  two  and  one  half  or  three  miles 
in  diameter  and  its  highest  point  is  forty-four 
1  i33  1 


A  Thousand- Mile  TValk 

feet  above  mean  tide-water.  It  is  surrounded 
by  scores  of  other  keys,  many  of  them  looking 
like  a  clump  of  palms,  arranged  like  a  tasteful 
bouquet,  and  placed  in  the  sea  to  be  kept  fresh. 
Others  have  quite  a  sprinkling  of  oaks  and 
junipers,  beautifully  united  with  vines.  Still 
others  consist  of  shells,  with  a  few  grasses  and 
mangroves,  circled  with  a  rim  of  rushes.  Those 
which  have  sedgy  margins  furnish  a  favorite 
retreat  for  countless  waders  and  divers,  espe- 
cially for  the  pelicans  that  frequently  whiten 
the  shore  like  a  ring  of  foam. 

It  is  delightful  to  observe  the  assembling  of 
these  feathered  people  from  the  woods  and 
reedy  isles ;  herons  white  as  wave-tops,  or  blue 
as  the  sky,  winnowing  the  warm  air  on  wide 
quiet  wing;  pelicans  coming  with  baskets  to 
fill,  and  the  multitude  of  smaller  sailors  of  the 
air,  swift  as  swallows,  gracefully  taking  their 
places  at  Nature's  family  table  for  their  daily 
bread.  Happy  birds ! 

The  mockingbird  is  graceful  in  form  and  a 
fine  singer,  plainly  dressed,  rather  familiar  in 
[  134  1 


*\'\  * 


I 


V 


in 

I; 


I;     % 


J^> N 


o  j= 


*  -a 


Cedar  Keyi 


habits,  frequently  coming  like  robins  to  door- 
sills  for  crumbs  —  a  noble  fellow,  beloved  by 
everybody.  Wild  geese  are  abundant  in  winter, 
associated  with  brant,  some  species  of  which 
I  have  never  seen  in  the  North.  Also  great 
flocks  of  robins,  mourning  doves,  bluebirds, 
and  the  delightful  brown  thrashers.  A  large 
number  of  the  smaller  birds  are  fine  singers. 
Crows,  too,  are  here,  some  of  them  cawing  with 
a  foreign  accent.  The  common  bob-white  quail 
I  observed  as  far  south  as  middle  Georgia. 

Lime  Key,  sketched  on  the  opposite  page,  is 
a  fair  specimen  of  the  Florida  keys  on  this  part 
of  the  coast.  A  fragment  of  cactus,  Opuntia, 
sketched  on  another  page,1  is  from  the  above- 
named  key,  and  is  abundant  there.  The  fruit, 
an  inch  in  length,  is  gathered,  and  made  into 
a  sauce,  of  which  some  people  are  fond.  This 
species  forms  thorny,  impenetrable  thickets. 
One  joint  that  I  measured  was  fifteen  inches 
long. 

The  mainland  of  Florida  is  less  salubrious 

1  Of  the  original  journal. 
1  135  1 


A  'Thousand-Mile  TValk 

than  the  islands,  but  no  portion  of  this  coast, 
nor  of  the  flat  border  which  sweeps  from  Mary- 
land to  Texas,  is  quite  free  from  malaria.  All 
the  inhabitants  of  this  region,  whether  black  or 
white,  are  liable  to  be  prostrated  by  the  ever- 
present  fever  and  ague,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
plagues  of  cholera  and  yellow  fever  that  come 
and  go  suddenly  like  storms,  prostrating  the 
population  and  cutting  gaps  in  it  like  hurri- 
canes in  woods. 

The  world,  we  are  told,  was  made  especially 
for  man  —  a  presumption  not  supported  by  all 
the  facts.  A  numerous  class  of  men  are  pain- 
fully astonished  whenever  they  find  anything, 
living  or  dead,  in  all  God's  universe,  which  they 
cannot  eat  or  render  in  some  way  what  they 
call  useful  to  themselves.  They  have  precise 
dogmatic  insight  of  the  intentions  of  the  Crea- 
tor, and  it  is  hardly  possible  to  be  guilty  of  ir- 
reverence in  speaking  of  their  God  any  more 
than  of  heathen  idols.  He  is  regarded  as  a  civ- 
ilized, law-abiding  gentleman  in  favor  either 
of  a  republican  form  of  government  or  of  a 
[  136] 


Cedar  Key: 


limited  monarchy;  believes  in  the  literature 
and  language  of  England;  is  a  warm  supporter 
of  the  English  constitution  and  Sunday  schools 
and  missionary  societies;  and  is  as  purely  a 
manufactured  article  as  any  puppet  of  a  half- 
penny theater. 

With  such  views  of  the  Creator  it  is,  of  course, 
not  surprising  that  erroneous  views  should  be 
entertained  of  the  creation.  To  such  properly 
trimmed  people,  the  sheep,  for  example,  is  an 
easy  problem  —  food  and  clothing  "for  us," 
eating  grass  and  daisies  white  by  divine  appoint- 
ment for  this  predestined  purpose,  on  perceiv- 
ing the  demand  for  wool  that  would  be  occa- 
sioned by  the  eating  of  the  apple  in  the  Garden 
of  Eden. 

In  the  same  pleasant  plan,  whales  are  store- 
houses of  oil  for  us,  to  help  out  the  stars  in 
lighting  our  dark  ways  until  the  discovery  of  the 
Pennsylvania  oil  wells.  Among  plants,  hemp, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  cereals,  is  a  case  of  evident 
destination  for  ships'  rigging,  wrapping  pack- 
ages, and  hanging  the  wicked.  Cotton  is  an- 
[  i37  1 


A  "Thousand- Mile  Walk 

other  plain  case  of  clothing.  Iron  was  made 
for  hammers  and  ploughs,  and  lead  for  bullets ; 
all  intended  for  us.  And  so  of  other  small  hand- 
fuls  of  insignificant  things. 

But  if  we  should  ask  these  profound  ex- 
positors of  God's  intentions,  How  about  those 
man-eating  animals  —  lions,  tigers,  alligators 
—  which  smack  their  lips  over  raw  man?  Or 
about  those  myriads  of  noxious  insects  that 
destroy  labor  and  drink  his  blood?  Doubtless 
man  was  intended  for  food  and  drink  for  all 
these  ?  Oh,  no !  Not  at  all !  These  are  unresolv- 
able  difficulties  connected  with  Eden's  apple  and 
the  Devil.  Why  does  water  drown  its  lord? 
Why  do  so  many  minerals  poison  him?  Why 
are  so  many  plants  and  fishes  deadly  enemies? 
Why  is  the  lord  of  creation  subjected  to  the 
same  laws  of  life  as  his  subjects?  Oh,  all  these 
things  are  satanic,  or  in  some  way  connected 
with  the  first  garden. 

Now,  it  never  seems  to  occur  to  these  far- 
seeing  teachers  that  Nature's  object  in  making 
animals  and  plants  might  possibly  be  first  of 
[  138  1 


Cedar  Keys 


all  the  happiness  of  each  one  of  them,  not  the 
creation  of  all  for  the  happiness  of  one.  Why 
should  man  value  himself  as  more  than  a  small 
part  of  the  one  great  unit  of  creation?  And 
what  creature  of  all  that  the  Lord  has  taken 
the  pains  to  make  is  not  essential  to  the  com- 
pleteness of  that  unit  —  the  cosmos  ?  The  uni- 
verse would  be  incomplete  without  man;  but 
it  would  also  be  incomplete  without  the  small- 
est transmicroscopic  creature  that  dwells  be- 
yond our  conceitful  eyes  and  knowledge. 

From  the  dust  of  the  earth,  from  the  common 
elementary  fund,  the  Creator  has  made  Homo 
sapiens.  From  the  same  material  he  has  made 
every  other  creature,  however  noxious  and  in- 
significant to  us.  They  are  earth-born  com- 
panions and  our  fellow  mortals.  The  fearfully 
good,  the  orthodox,  of  this  laborious  patch- 
work of  modern  civilization  cry  "Heresy"  on 
every  one  whose  sympathies  reach  a  single 
hair's  breadth  beyond  the  boundary  epider- 
mis of  our  own  species.  Not  content  with  taking 
all  of  earth,  they  also  claim  the  celestial  coun- 
[  i39  1 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

try  as  the  only  ones  who  possess  the  kind  of 
souls  for  which  that  imponderable  empire  was 
planned. 

This  star,  our  own  good  earth,  made  many 
a  successful  journey  around  the  heavens  ere 
man  was  made,  and  whole  kingdoms  of  crea- 
tures enjoyed  existence  and  returned  to  dust 
ere  man  appeared  to  claim  them.  After  human 
beings  have  also  played  their  part  in  Creation's 
plan,  they  too  may  disappear  without  any 
general  burning  or  extraordinary  commotion 
whatever. 

Plants  are  credited  with  but  dim  and  uncer- 
tain sensation,  and  minerals  with  positively 
none  at  all.  But  why  may  not  even  a  mineral 
arrangement  of  matter  be  endowed  with  sensa- 
tion of  a  kind  that  we  in  our  blind  exclusive 
perfection  can  have  no  manner  of  communica- 
tion with? 

But  I  have  wandered  from  my  object.    I 

stated  a  page  or  two  back  that  man  claimed 

the  earth  was  made  for  him,  and  I  was  going 

to  say  that  venomous  beasts,  thorny  plants, 

[  140  ] 


Cedar  Keys 


and  deadly  diseases  of  certain  parts  of  the  earth 
prove  that  the  whole  world  was  not  made  for 
him.  When  an  animal  from  a  tropical  climate 
is  taken  to  high  latitudes,  it  may  perish  of  cold, 
and  we  say  that  such  an  animal  was  never  in- 
tended for  so  severe  a  climate.  But  when  man 
betakes  himself  to  sickly  parts  of  the  tropics 
and  perishes,  he  cannot  see  that  he  was  never 
intended  for  such  deadly  climates.  No,  he  will 
rather  accuse  the  first  mother  of  the  cause  of 
the  difficulty,  though  she  may  never  have  seen 
a  fever  district ;  or  will  consider  it  a  providen- 
tial chastisement  for  some  self-invented  form 
of  sin. 

Furthermore,  all  uneatable  and  uncivilizable 
animals,  and  all  plants  which  carry  prickles,  are 
deplorable  evils  which,  according  to  closet  re- 
searches of  clergy,  require  the  cleansing  chem- 
istry of  universal  planetary  combustion.  But 
more  than  aught  else  mankind  requires  burn- 
ing, as  being  in  great  part  wicked,  and  if  that 
transmundane  furnace  can  be  so  applied  and 
regulated  as  to  smelt  and  purify  us  into  con- 
[  141  1 


A  'Thousand- Mile  TValk 

formity  with  the  rest  of  the  terrestrial  creation, 
then  the  tophetization  of  the  erratic  genus 
Homo  were  a  consummation  devoutly  to  be 
prayed  for.  But,  glad  to  leave  these  ecclesias- 
tical fires  and  blunders,  I  joyfully  return  to 
the  immortal  truth  and  immortal  beauty  of 
Nature. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A   SOJOURN   IN   CUBA 

ONE  day  in  January  I  climbed  to  the 
housetop  to  get  a  view  of  another  of 
the  fine  sunsets  of  this  land  of  flowers. 
The  landscape  was  a  strip  of  clear  Gulf  water,  a 
strip  of  sylvan  coast,  a  tranquil  company  of  shell 
and  coral  keys,  and  a  gloriously  colored  sky 
without  a  threatening  cloud.  All  the  winds 
were  hushed  and  the  calm  of  the  heavens  was 
as  profound  as  that  of  the  palmy  islands  and 
their  encircling  waters.  As  I  gazed  from  one 
to  another  of  the  palm-crowned  keys,  en- 
closed by  the  sunset-colored  dome,  my  eyes 
chanced  to  rest  upon  the  fluttering  sails  of  a 
Yankee  schooner  that  was  threading  the  tor- 
tuous channel  in  the  coral  reef  leading  to  the 
harbor  of  Cedar  Keys.  "There,"  thought  I, 
"perhaps  I  may  sail  in  that  pretty  white 
moth."  She  proved  to  be  the  schooner  Island 
Belle. 

[i43  1 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 

One  day  soon  after  her  arrival  I  went  over 
the  key  to  the  harbor,  for  I  was  now  strong 
enough  to  walk.  Some  of  her  crew  were  ashore 
after  water.  I  waited  until  their  casks  were 
filled,  and  went  with  them  to  the  vessel  in  their 
boat.  Ascertained  that  she  was  ready  to  sail 
with  her  cargo  of  lumber  for  Cuba.  I  engaged 
passage  on  her  for  twenty-five  dollars,  and 
asked  her  sharp-visaged  captain  when  he  would 
sail.  "Just  as  soon,"  said  he,  "as  we  get  a 
north  wind.  We  have  had  northers  enough 
when  we  did  not  want  them,  and  now  we  have 
this  dying  breath  from  the  south." 

Hurrying  back  to  the  house,  I  gathered  my 
plants,  took  leave  of  my  kind  friends,  and 
went  aboard,  and  soon,  as  if  to  calm  the  cap- 
tain's complaints,  Boreas  came  foaming  loud 
and  strong.  The  little  craft  was  quickly 
trimmed  and  snugged,  her  inviting  sails  spread 
open,  and  away  she  dashed  to  her  ocean  home 
like  an  exulting  war-horse  to  the  battle.  Islet 
after  islet  speedily  grew  dim  and  sank  beneath 
the  horizon.  Deeper  became  the  blue  of  the 
[  i44  1 


A  Sojourn  in  Cuba 

water,  and  in  a  few  hours  all  of  Florida  van- 
ished. 

This  excursion  on  the  sea,  the  first  one  after 
twenty  years  in  the  woods,  was  of  course  ex- 
ceedingly interesting,  and  I  was  full  of  hope, 
glad  to  be  once  more  on  my  journey  to  the 
South.  Boreas  increased  in  power  and  the  Is- 
land Belle  appeared  to  glory  in  her  speed  and 
managed  her  full-spread  wings  as  gracefully 
as  a  sea-bird.  In  less  than  a  day  our  norther 
increased  ■  in  strength  to  the  storm  point. 
Deeper  and  wider  became  the  valleys,  and  yet 
higher  the  hills  of  the  round  plain  of  water. 
The  flying  jib  and  gaff  topsails  were  lowered 
and  mainsails  close-reefed,  and  our  deck  was 
white  with  broken  wave-tops. 

"You  had  better  go  below,"  said  the  captain. 
"The  Gulf  Stream,  opposed  by  this  wind,  is 
raising  a  heavy  sea  and  you  will  be  sick.  No 
landsman  can  stand  this  long."  I  replied  that 
I  hoped  the  storm  would  be  as  violent  as  his 
ship  could  bear,  that  I  enjoyed  the  scenery  of 
such  a  sea  so  much  that  it  was  impossible  to  be 
[  i45  1 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 

sick,  that  I  had  long  waited  in  the  woods  for 
just  such  a  storm,  and  that,  now  that  the  pre- 
cious thing  had  come,  I  would  remain  on  deck 
and  enjoy  it.  "Well,"  said  he,  "  if  you  can  stand 
this,  you  are  the  first  landsman  I  ever  saw  that 
could." 

I  remained  on  deck,  holding  on  by  a  rope 
to  keep  from  being  washed  overboard,  and 
watched  the  behavior  of  the  Belle  as  she  dared 
nobly  on ;  but  my  attention  was  mostly  directed 
among  the  glorious  fields  of  foam-topped  waves. 
The  wind  had  a  mysterious  voice  and  carried 
nothing  now  of  the  songs  of  birds  or  of  the  rus- 
tling of  palms  and  fragrant  vines.  Its  burden 
was  gathered  from  a  stormy  expanse  of  crested 
waves  and  briny  tangles.  I  could  see  no  striving 
in  those  magnificent  wave-motions,  no  raging; 
all  the  storm  was  apparently  inspired  with  na- 
ture's beauty  and  harmony.  Every  wave  was 
obedient  and  harmonious  as  the  smoothest 
ripple  of  a  forest  lake,  and  after  dark  all  the 
water  was  phosphorescent  like  silver  fire,  a 
glorious  sight. 

[  146] 


A  Sojourn  in  Cuba 

Our  luminous  storm  was  all  too  short  for 
me.  Cuba's  rock-waves  loomed  above  the 
white  waters  early  in  the  morning.  The  sailors, 
accustomed  to  detect  the  faintest  land  line, 
pointed  out  well-known  guiding  harbor-marks 
back  of  the  Morro  Castle  long  before  I  could 
see  them  through  the  flying  spray.  We  sailed 
landward  for  several  hours,  the  misty  shore  be- 
coming gradually  more  earthlike.  A  flock  of 
white-plumaged  ships  was  departing  from  the 
Havana  harbor,  or,  like  us,  seeking  to  enter 
it.  No  sooner  had  our  little  schooner  flapped 
her  sails  in  the  lee  of  the  Castle  than  she 
was  boarded  by  a  swarm  of  daintily,  dressed 
officials  who  were  good-naturedly  and  good- 
gestiiredly  making  all  sorts  of  inquiries,  while 
our  busy  captain,  paying  little  attention  to 
them,  was  giving  orders  to  his  crew. 

The  neck  of  the  harbor  is  narrow  and  it  is 
seldom  possible  to  sail  in  to  appointed  anchor- 
age without  the  aid  of  a  steam  tug.  Our  cap- 
tain wished  to  save  his  money,  but  after  much 
profitless  tacking  was  compelled  to  take  the 
[  i47l 


A  'Thousand- Mile  JValk 

proffered  aid  of  steam,  when  we  soon  reached 
our  quiet  mid-harbor  quarters  and  dropped 
anchor  among  ships  of  every  size  from  every 
sea. 

I  was  still  four  or  five  hundred  yards  from 
land  and  could  determine  no  plant  in  sight  ex- 
cepting the  long  arched  leaf  banners  of  the 
banana  and  the  palm,  which  made  a  brave 
show  on  the  Morro  Hill.  When  we  were  ap- 
proaching the  land,  I  observed  that  in  some 
places  it  was  distinctly  yellow,  and  I  wondered 
while  we  were  yet  some  miles  distant  whether 
the  color  belonged  to  the  ground  or  to  sheets  of 
flowers.  From  our  harbor  home  I  could  now 
see  that  the  color  was  plant-gold.  On  one  side 
of  the  harbor  was  a  city  of  these  yellow  plants ; 
on  the  other,  a  city  of  yellow  stucco  houses, 
narrowly  and  confusedly  congregated. 

"Do  you  want  to  go  ashore?"  said  the  cap- 
tain to  me.  "Yes,"  I  replied,  "but  I  wish  to  go 
to  the  plant  side  of  the  harbor."  "Oh,  well," 
he  said,  "come  with  me  now.  There  are  some 
fine  squares  and  gardens  in  the  city,  full  of  all 
[  148  1 


A  Sojourn  in  Cuba 

sorts  of  trees  and  flowers.  Enjoy  these  to-day, 
and  some  other  day  we  will  all  go  over  the 
Morro  Hill  with  you  and  gather  shells.  All 
kinds  of  shells  are  over  there ;  but  these  yellow 
slopes  that  you  see  are  covered  only  with 
weeds.', 

We  jumped  into  the  boat  and  a  couple  of 
sailors  pulled  us  to  the  thronged,  noisy  wharf. 
It  was  Sunday  afternoon,1  the  noisiest  day  of 
a  Havana  week.  Cathedral  bells  and  prayers 
in  the  forenoon,  theaters  and  bull-fight  bells 
and  bellowings  in  the  afternoon!  Lowly  whis- 
pered prayers  to  the  saints  and  the  Virgin,  fol- 
lowed by  shouts  of  praise  or  reproach  to  bulls 
and  matadors!  I  made  free  with  fine  oranges 
and  bananas  and  many  other  fruits.  Pineapple 
I  had  never  seen  before.  Wandered  about  the 
narrow  streets,  stunned  with  the  babel  of 
strange  sounds  and  sights;  went  gazing,  also, 
among  the  gorgeously  flowered  garden  squares, 
and  then  waited  among  some  boxed  mer- 
chandise until  our  captain,  detained  by  busi- 

1  Doubtless  January  12,  1868. 
[  149  ] 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

ness,  arrived.  Was  glad  to  escape  to  our  little 
schooner  Belle  again,  weary  and  heavy  laden 
with  excitement  and  tempting  fruits. 

As  night  came  on,  a  thousand  lights  starred 
the  great  town.  I  was  now  in  one  of  my  happy 
dreamlands,  the  fairest  of  West  India  islands. 
But  how,  I  wondered,  shall  I  be  able  to  escape 
from  this  great  city  confusion?  How  shall  I 
reach  nature  in  this  delectable  land  ?  Consult- 
ing my  map,  I  longed  to  climb  the  central  moun- 
tain range  of  the  island  and  trace  it  through  all 
its  forests  and  valleys  and  over  its  summit 
peaks,  a  distance  of  seven  or  eight  hundred 
miles.  But  alas !  though  out  of  Florida  swamps, 
fever  was  yet  weighing  me  down,  and  a  mile  of 
city  walking  was  quite  exhausting.  The  weather 
too  was  oppressively  warm  and  sultry. 

January  16.  During  the  few  days  since  our 
arrival  the  sun  usually  has  risen  unclouded, 
pouring  down  pure  gold,  rich  and  dense,  for 
one  or  two  hours.  Then  islandlike  masses  of 
white-edged  cumuli  suddenly  appeared,  grew 
to  storm  size,  and  in  a  few  minutes  discharged 
[  iSo] 


A  Sojourn  in  Cuba 

rain  in  tepid  plashing  bucketfuls,  accompanied 
with  high  wind.  This  was  followed  by  a  short 
space  of  calm,  half-cloudy  sky,  delightfully 
fragrant  with  flowers,  and  again  the  air  would 
become  hot,  thick,  and  sultry. 

This  weather,  as  may  readily  be  perceived, 
was  severe  to  one  so  weak  and  feverish,  and 
after  a  dozen  trials  of  strength  over  the  Morro 
Hill  and  along  the  coast  northward  for  shells 
and  flowers,  I  was  sadly  compelled  to  see  that 
no  enthusiasm  could  enable  me  to  walk  to  the 
interior.  So  I  was  obliged  to  limit  my  re- 
searches to  within  ten  or  twelve  miles  of 
Havana.  Captain  Parsons  offered  his  ship  as 
my  headquarters,  and  my  weakness  prevented 
me  from  spending  a  single  night  ashore. 

The  daily  programme  for  nearly  all  the 
month  that  I  spent  here  was  about  as  follows: 
After  breakfast  a  sailor  rowed  me  ashore  on  the 
north  side  of  the  harbor.  A  few  minutes'  walk 
took  me  past  the  Morro  Castle  and  out  of  sight 
of  the  town  on  a  broad  cactus  common,  about 
as  solitary  and  untrodden  as  the  tangles  of 
[  151  1 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

Florida.  Here  I  zigzagged  and  gathered  prizes 
among  unnumbered  plants  and  shells  along  the 
shore,  stopping  to  press  the  plant  specimens  and 
to  rest  in  the  shade  of  vine-heaps  and  bushes 
until  sundown.  The  happy  hours  stole  away 
until  I  had  to  return  to  the  schooner.  Either 
I  was  seen  by  the  sailors  who  usually  came  for 
me,  or  I  hired  a  boat  to  take  me  back.  Ar- 
rived, I  reached  up  my  press  and  a  big  handful 
of  flowers,  and  with  a  little  help  climbed  up  the 
side  of  my  floating  home. 

Refreshed  with  supper  and  rest,  I  recounted 
my  adventures  in  the  vine  tangles,  cactus 
thickets,  sunflower  swamps,  and  along  the 
shore  among  the  breakers.  My  flower  speci- 
mens, also,  and  pocketfuls  of  shells  and  corals 
had  to  be  reviewed.  Next  followed  a  cool, 
dreamy  hour  on  deck  amid  the  lights  of  the 
town  and  the  various  vessels  coming  and  de- 
parting. 

Many  strange  sounds  were  heard:  the  vo- 
ciferous, unsmotherable  bells,  the  heavy  thun- 
dering of  cannon  from  the  Castle,  and  the 
[  152] 


A  Sojourn  in  Cuba 

shouts  of  the  sentinels  in  measured  time.  Com- 
bined they  made  the  most  incessant  sharp- 
angled  mass  of  noise  that  I  ever  was  doomed 
to  hear.  Nine  or  ten  o'clock  found  me  in  a  small 
bunk  with  the  harbor  wavelets  tinkling  outside 
close  to  my  ear.  The  hours  of  sleep  were  filled 
with  dreams  of  heavy  heat,  of  fruitless  efforts 
for  the  disentanglement  of  vines,  or  of  running 
from  curling  breakers  back  to  the  Morro,  etc. 
Thus  my  days  and  nights  went  on. 
I  Occasionally  I  was  persuaded  by  the  captain 
to  go  ashore  in  the  evening  on  his  side  of  the 
harbor,  accompanied  perhaps  by  two  or  three 
other  captains.  After  landing  and  telling  the 
sailors  when  to  call  for  us,  we  hired  a  carriage 
and  drove  to  the  upper  end  of  the  city,  to  a  fine 
public  square  adorned  with  shady  walks  and 
magnificent  plants.  A  brass  band  in  imposing 
uniform  played  the  characteristic  lance-noted 
martial  airs  of  the  Spanish.  Evening  is  the 
fashionable  hour  for  aristocratic  drives  about 
the  streets  and  squares,  the  only  time  that  is 
delightfully  cool.  I  never  saw  elsewhere  people 
[  153  1 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 

so  neatly  and  becomingly  dressed.  The  proud 
best-family  Cubans  may  fairly  be  called  beau- 
tiful, are  under-  rather  than  over-sized,  with 
features  exquisitely  moulded,  and  set  off  with 
silks  and  broadcloth  in  excellent  taste.  Strange 
that  their  amusements  should  be  so  coarse. 
Bull-fighting,  brain-splitting  bell-ringing,  and 
the  most  piercing  artificial  music  appeal  to 
their  taste. 

The  rank  and  wealth  of  Havana  nobility, 
when  out  driving,  seems  to  be  indicated  by  the 
distance  of  their  horses  from  the  body  of  the 
carriage.  The  higher  the  rank,  the  longer  the 
shafts  of  the  carriage,  and  the  clumsier  and 
more  ponderous  are  the  wheels,  which  are 
not  unlike  those  of  a  cannon-cart.  A  few  of 
these  carriages  have  shafts  twenty-five  feet  in 
length,  and  the  brilliant-liveried  negro  driver 
on  the  lead  horse,  twenty  or  thirty  feet  in 
advance  of  the  horse  in  the  shafts,  is  beyond 
calling  distance  of  his  master. 

Havana  abounds  in  public  squares,  which  in 
all  my  random  strolls  throughout  the  big  town 
[  iS4  1 


A  Sojourn  in  Cuba 

I  found  to  be  well  watered,  well  cared  for,  well 
planted,  and  full  of  exceedingly  showy  and  in- 
teresting plants,  rare  even  amid  the  exhaustless 
luxuriance  of  Cuba.  These  squares  also  con- 
tained fine  marble  statuary  and  were  furnished 
with  seats  in  the  shadiest  places.  Many  of  the 
walks  were  paved  instead  of  graveled. 

The  streets  of  Havana  are  crooked,  laby- 
rinthic,  and  exceedingly  narrow.  The  sidewalks 
are  only  about  a  foot  wide.  A  traveler  experi- 
ences delightful  relief  when,  heated  and  wearied 
by  raids  through  the  breadth  of  the  dingy  yellow 
town,  dodging  a  way  through  crowds  of  men 
and  mules  and  lumbering  carts  and  carriages, 
he  at  length  finds  shelter  in  the  spacious,  dust- 
less,  cool,  flowery  squares;  still  more  when, 
emerging  from  all  the  din  and  darkness  of  these 
lanelike  streets,  he  suddenly  finds  himself  out 
in  the  middle  of  the  harbor,  inhaling  full- 
drawn  breaths  of  the  sea  breezes. 

The  interior  of  the  better  houses  which  came 
under  my  observation  struck  me  with  the  pro- 
fusion of  dumpy,  ill-proportioned  pillars  at  the 
[  155  1 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

entrances  and  in  the  halls,  and  with  the  spacious 
open-fielded  appearance  of  their  enclosed  square 
house-gardens  or  courts.  Cubans  in  general  ap- 
pear to  me  superfinely  polished,  polite,  and 
agreeable  in  society,  but  in  their  treatment  of 
animals  they  are  cruel.  I  saw  more  downright 
brutal  cruelty  to  mules  and  horses  during  the 
few  weeks  I  stayed  there  than  in  my  whole  life 
elsewhere.  Live  chickens  and  hogs  are  tied  in 
bunches  by  the  legs  and  carried  to  market  thus, 
slung  on  a  mule.  In  their  general  treatment  of 
all  sorts  of  animals  they  seem  to  have  no 
thought  for  them  beyond  cold-blooded,  selfish 
interest. 

In  tropical  regions  it  is  easy  to  build  towns, 
but  it  is  difficult  to  subdue  their  armed  and 
united  plant  inhabitants,  and  to  clear  fields 
and  make  them  blossom  with  breadstuff.  The 
plant  people  of  temperate  regions,  feeble,  un- 
armed, unallied,  disappear  under  the  trampling 
feet  of  flocks,  herds,  and  man,  leaving  their 
homes  to  enslavable  plants  which  follow  the 
will  of  man  and  furnish  him  with  food.  But  the 
1  156] 


A  Sojourn  in  Cuba 

armed  and  united  plants  of  the  tropics  hold  their 
rightful  kingdom  plantfully,  nor,  since  the  first 
appearance  of  Lord  Man,  have  they  ever  suf- 
fered defeat. 

A  large  number  of  Cuba's  wild  plants  circle 
closely  about  Havana.  In  five  minutes'  walk 
from  the  wharf  I  could  reach  the  undisturbed 
settlements  of  Nature.  The  field  of  the  greater 
portion  of  my  rambling  researches  was  a  strip 
of  rocky  common,  silent  and  unfrequented  by 
anybody  save  an  occasional  beggar  at  Nature's 
door  asking  a  few  roots  and  seeds.  This  natu- 
ral strip  extended  ten  miles  along  the  coast 
northward,  with  but  few  large-sized  trees  and 
bushes,  but  rich  in  magnificent  vines,  cacti- 
composites,  leguminous  plants,  grasses,  etc. 
The  wild  flowers  of  this  seaside  field  are  a 
happy  band,  closely  joined  in  splendid  array. 
The  trees  shine  with  blossoms  and  with  light 
reflected  from  the  leaves.  The  individuality 
of  the  vines  is  lost  in  trackless,  interlacing, 
twisting,  overheaping  union. 

Our  American  "South"  is  rich  in  flowery 
[  i57] 


A  "Thousand' Mile  JValk 

vines.  In  some  districts  almost  every  tree  is 
crowned  with  them,  aiding  each  other  in  grace 
and  beauty.  Indiana,  Kentucky,  and  Tennes- 
see have  the  grapevine  in  predominant  num- 
bers and  development.  Farther  south  dwell  the 
greenbriers  and  countless  leguminous  vines. 
A  vine  common  among  the  Florida  islets,  per- 
haps belonging  to  the  dogbane  family,  over- 
runs live-oaks  and  palmettos,  with  frequently 
more  than  a  hundred  stems  twisted  into  one 
cable.  Yet  in  no  section  of  the  South  are  there 
such  complicated  and  such  gorgeously  flowered 
vine-tangles  as  flourish  in  armed  safety  in  the 
hot  and  humid  wild  gardens  of  Cuba. 

The  longest  and  the  shortest  vine  that  I 
found  in  Cuba  were  both  leguminous.  I  have 
said  that  the  harbor  side  of  the  Morro  Hill  is 
clothed  with  tall  yellow-flowered  composites 
through  which  it  is  difficult  to  pass.  But  there 
are  smooth,  velvety,  lawnlike  patches  in  these 
Composite  forests.  Coming  suddenly  upon  one 
of  these  open  places,  I  stopped  to  admire  its 
greenness  and  smoothness,  when  I  observed  a 
[  iS8] 


A  Sojourn  in  Cuba 

sprinkling  of  large  papilionaceous  blossoms 
among  the  short  green  grass.  The  long  com- 
posites that  bordered  this  little  lawn  were  en- 
twined and  almost  smothered  with  vines  which 
bore  similar  corollas  in  tropic  abundance. 

I  at  once  decided  that  these  sprinkled  flow- 
ers had  been  blown  off  the  encompassing 
tangles  and  had  been  kept  fresh  by  dew  and  by 
spray  from  the  sea.  But,  on  stooping  to  pick 
one  of  them  up,  I  was  surprised  to  find  that  it 
was  attached  to  Mother  Earth  by  a  short,  pros- 
trate, slender  hair  of  a  vine  stem,  bearing,  be- 
sides the  one  large  blossom,  a  pair  or  two  of 
linear  leaves.  The  flower  weighed  more  than 
stem,  root,  and  leaves  combined.  Thus,  in  a 
land  of  creeping  and  twining  giants,  we  find 
also  this  charming,  diminutive  simplicity  — 
the  vine  reduced  to  its  lowest  terms. 

The  longest  vine,  prostrate  and  untwined  like 
its  little  neighbor,  covers  patches  of  several  hun- 
dred square  yards  with  its  countless  branches 
and  close  growth  of  upright,  trifoliate,  smooth 
green  leaves.  The  flowers  are  as  plain  and  un- 
[  i59  1 


A  Thousand-Mile  TValk 

showy  in  size  and  color  as  those  of  the  sweet 
peas  of  gardens.  The  seeds  are  large  and  satiny. 
The  whole  plant  is  noble  in  its  motions  and 
features,  covering  the  ground  with  a  depth  of 
unconfused  leafage  which  I  have  never  seen 
equaled  by  any  other  plant.  The  extent  of  leaf- 
surface  is  greater,  I  think,  than  that  of  a  large 
Kentucky  oak.  It  grows,  as  far  as  my  obser- 
vation has  reached,  only  upon  shores,  in  a  soil 
composed  of  broken  shells  and  corals,  and  ex- 
tends exactly  to  the  water-line  of  the  highest- 
reaching  waves.  The  same  plant  is  abundant 
in  Florida. 

The  cacti  form  an  important  part  of  the  plant 
population  of  my  ramble  ground.  They  are 
various  as  the  vines,  consisting  now  of  a  dimin- 
utive joint  or  two  hid  in  the  weeds,  now  rising 
into  bushy  trees,  wide-topped,  with  trunks  a 
foot  in  diameter,  and  with  glossy,  dark-green 
joints  that  reflect  light  like  the  s ilex- varnished 
palms.  They  are  planted  for  fences,  together 
with  the  Spanish  bayonet  and  agave. 

In  one  of  my  first  walks  I  was  laboriously 
[  160] 


A  Sojourn  in  Cuba 

scrambling  among  some  low  rocks  gathering 
ferns  and  vines,  when  I  was  startled  by  finding 
my  face  close  to  a  great  snake,  whose  body  was 
disposed  carelessly  like  a  castaway  rope  among 
the  weeds  and  stones.  After  escaping  and  com- 
ing to  my  senses,  I  discovered  that  the  snake 
was  a  member  of  the  vegetable  kingdom,  ca- 
pable of  no  dangerous  amount  of  locomotion, 
but  possessed  of  many  a  fang,  and  prostrate 
as  though  under  the  curse  of  Eden,  "Upon  thy 
belly  shalt  thou  go  and  dust  shalt  thou  eat." 

One  day,  after  luxuriating  in  the  riches  of 
my  Morro  pasture,  and  pressing  many  new 
specimens,  I  went  down  to  the  bank  of  brilliant 
wave-washed  shells  to  rest  awhile  in  their 
beauty,  and  to  watch  the  breakers  that  a  power- 
ful norther  was  heaving  in  splendid  rank  along 
the  coral  boundary.  I  gathered  pocketfuls  of 
shells,  mostly  small  but  fine  in  color  and  form, 
and  bits  of  rosy  coral.  Then  I  amused  myself 
by  noting  the  varying  colors  of  the  waves  and 
the  different  forms  of  their  curved  and  blossom- 
ing crests.  While  thus  alone  and  free  it  was 
[  161  1 


A  Thousand-Mile  JValk 

interesting  to  learn  the  richly  varied  songs, 
or  what  we  mortals  call  the  roar,  of  expiring 
breakers.  I  compared  their  variation  with  the 
different  distances  to  which  the  broken  wave- 
water  reached  landward  in  its  farthest-flung 
foam-wreaths,  and  endeavored  to  form  some 
idea  of  the  one  great  song  sounding  forever  all 
around  the  white-blooming  shores  of  the  world. 
Rising  from  my  shell  seat,  I  watched  a  wave 
leaping  from  the  deep  and  coming  far  up  the 
beveled  strand  to  bloom  and  die  in  a  mass  of 
white.  Then  I  followed  the  spent  waters  in 
their  return  to  the  blue  deep,  wading  in  their 
spangled,  decaying  fragments  until  chased  back 
up  the  bank  by  the  coming  of  another  wave. 
While  thus  playing  half  studiously,  I  discovered 
in  the  rough,  beaten  deathbed  of  the  wave  a 
little  plant  with  closed  flowers.  It  was  crouch- 
ing in  a  hollow  of  the  brown  wave-washed  rock, 
and  one  by  one  the  chanting,  dying  waves 
rolled  over  it.  The  tips  of  its  delicate  pink 
petals  peered  above  the  clasping  green  calyx. 
"  Surely,"  said  I,  as  I  stooped  over  it  for  a  mo- 
[  162  1 


A  Sojourn  in  Cuba 

ment,  before  the,  oncoming  of  another  wave, 
"surely  you  cannot  be  living  here!  You  must 
have  been  blown  from  some  warm  bank,  and 
rolled  into  this  little  hollow  crack  like  a  dead 
shell.,,  But,  running  back  after  every  retiring 
wave,  I  found  that  its  roots  were  wedged  into 
a  shallow  wrinkle  of  the  coral  rock,  and  that 
this  wave-beaten  chink  was  indeed  its  dwelling- 
place. 

I  had  oftentimes  admired  the  adaptation  dis- 
played in  the  structure  of  the  stately  dulse  and 
other  seaweeds,  but  never  thought  to  find  a 
highbred  flowering  plant  dwelling  amid  waves 
in  the  stormy,  roaring  domain  of  the  sea.  This 
little  plant  has  smooth  globular  leaves,  fleshy 
and  translucent  like  beads,  but  green  like  those 
of  other  land  plants.  The  flower  is  about  five 
eighths  of  an  inch  in  diameter,  rose-purple, 
opening  in  calm  weather,  when  deserted  by  the 
waves.  In  general  appearance  it  is  like  a  small 
portulaca.  The  strand,  as  far  as  I  walked  it, 
was  luxuriantly  fringed  with  woody  Compositczy 
two  or  three  feet  in  height,  their  tops  purple 
[  163  ] 


A  thousand- Mile  Walk 

and  golden  with  a  profusion  of  flowers.  Among 
these  I  discovered  a  small  bush  whose  yellow 
flowers  were  ideal;  all  the  parts  were  present 
regularly  alternate  and  in  fives,  and  all  sepa- 
rate, a  plain  harmony. 

When  a  page  is  written  over  but  once  it  may 
be  easily  read;  but  if  it  be  written  over  and 
over  with  characters  of  every  size  and  style,  it 
soon  becomes  unreadable,  although  not  a  single 
confused  meaningless  mark  or  thought  may  oc- 
cur among  all  the  written  characters  to  mar 
its  perfection.  Our  limited  powers  are  similarly 
perplexed  and  overtaxed  in  reading  the  inex- 
haustible pages  of  nature,  for  they  are  written 
over  and  over  uncountable  times,  written  in 
characters  of  every  size  and  color,  sentences 
composed  of  sentences,  every  part  of  a  char- 
acter a  sentence.  There  is  not  a  fragment  in 
all  nature,  for  every  relative  fragment  of  one 
thing  is  a  full  harmonious  unit  in  itself.  All 
together  form  the  one  grand  palimpsest  of 
the  world. 

One  of  the  most  common  plants  of  my  pas- 
[  164  1 


A  Sojourn  in  Cuba 

ture  was  the  agave.  It  is  sometimes  used  for 
fencing.  One  day,  in  looking  back  from  the  top 
of  the  Morro  Hill,  as  I  was  returning  to  the 
Island  Belle,  I  chanced  to  observe  two  poplar- 
like  trees  about  twenty-five  feet  in  height. 
They  were  growing  in  a  dense  patch  of  cactus 
and  vine-knotted  sunflowers.  I  was  anxious  to 
see  anything  so  homelike  as  a  poplar,  and  so 
made  haste  towards  the  two  strange  trees,  mak- 
ing a  way  through  the  cactus  and  sunflower 
jungle  that  protected  them.  I  was  surprised  to 
find  that  what  I  took  to  be  poplars  were  agaves 
in  flower,  the  first  I  had  seen.  They  were  almost 
out  of  flower,  and  fast  becoming  wilted  at  the 
approach  of  death.  Bulbs  were  scattered  about, 
and  a  good  many  still  remained  on  the  branches, 
which  gave  it  a  fruited  appearance. 

The  stem  of  the  agave  seems  enormous  in  size 
when  one  considers  that  it  is  the  growth  of  a 
few  weeks.  This  plant  is  said  to  make  a  mighty 
effort  to  flower  and  mature  its  seeds  and  then  to 
die  of  exhaustion.  Now  there  is  not,  so  far  as 
I  have  seen,  a  mighty  effort  or  the  need  of  one, 
[  165] 


A  'Thousand- Mile  Walk 

in  wild  Nature.  She  accomplishes  her  ends  with- 
out unquiet  effort,  and  perhaps  there  is  nothing 
more  mighty  in  the  development  of  the  flower- 
stem  of  the  agave  than  in  the  development  of  a 
grass  panicle. 

Havana  has  a  fine  botanical  garden.  I  spent 
pleasant  hours  in  its  magnificent  flowery  ar- 
bors and  around  its  shady  fountains.  There 
is  a  palm  avenue  which  is  considered  wonder- 
fully stately  and  beautiful,  fifty  palms  in  two 
straight  lines,  each  rigidly  perpendicular.  The 
smooth  round  shafts,  slightly  thicker  in  the 
middle,  appear  to  be  productions  of  the  lathe, 
rather  than  vegetable  stems.  The  fifty  arched 
crowns,  inimitably  balanced,  blaze  in  the  sun- 
shine like  heaps  of  stars  that  have  fallen  from 
the  skies.  The  stems  were  about  sixty  or 
seventy  feet  in  height,  the  crowns  about  fifteen 
feet  in  diameter. 

Along  a  stream-bank  were  tall,  waving  bam- 
boos, leafy  as  willows,  and  infinitely  graceful  in 
wrind  gestures.  There  was  one  species  of  palm, 
with  immense  bipinnate  leaves  and  leaflets 
[  166] 


A  Sojourn  in  Cuba 

fringed,  jagged,  and  one-sided,  like  those  of 
Adiantum.  Hundreds  of  the  most  gorgeous- 
flowered  plants,  some  of  them  large  trees,  be- 
longing to  the  Leguminosce.  Compared  with 
what  I  have  before  seen  in  artificial  flower-gar- 
dens, this  is  past  comparison  the  grandest.  It  is 
a  perfect  metropolis  of  the  brightest  and  most 
exuberant  of  garden  plants,  watered  by  hand- 
some fountains,  while  graveled  and  finely  bor- 
dered walks  slant  and  curve  in  all  directions, 
and  in  all  kinds  of  fanciful  playground  styles, 
more  like  the  fairy  gardens  of  the  Arabian 
Nights  than  any  ordinary  man-made  pleasure- 
ground. 

In  Havana  I  saw  the  strongest  and  the  ugliest 
negroes  that  I  have  met  in  my  whole  walk.  The 
stevedores  of  the  Havana  wharf  are  muscled 
in  true  giant  style,  enabling  them  to  tumble 
and  toss  ponderous  casks  and  boxes  of  sugar 
weighing  hundreds  of  pounds  as  if  they  were 
empty.  I  heard  our  own  brawny  sailors,  after 
watching  them  at  work  a  few  minutes,  ex- 
press unbounded  admiration  of  their  strength, 
1  167  1 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

and  wish  that  their  hard  outbulging  muscles 
were  for  sale.  The  countenances  of  some  of 
the  negro  orange-selling  dames  express  a  de- 
vout good-natured  ugliness  that  I  never  could 
have  conceived  any  arrangement  of  flesh  and 
blood  to  be  capable  of.  Besides  oranges  they 
sold  pineapples,  bananas,  and  lottery  tickets. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BY  A  CROOKED  ROUTE  TO  CALIFORNIA 

AFTER  passing  a  month  in  this  mag- 
nificent island,  and  finding  that  my 
health  was  not  improving,  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  push  on  to  South  America  while 
my  stock  of  strength,  such  as  it  was,  lasted.  But 
fortunately  I  could  not  find  passage  for  any 
South  American  port.  I  had  long  wished  to 
visit  the  Orinoco  basin  and  in  particular  the 
basin  of  the  Amazon.  My  plan  was  to  get  ashore 
anywhere  on  the  north  end  of  the  continent, 
push  on  southward  through  the  wilderness 
around  the  headwaters  of  the  Orinoco,  until  I 
reached  a  tributary  of  the  Amazon,  and  float 
down  on  a  raft  or  skiff  the  whole  length  of  the 
great  river  to  its  mouth.  It  seems  strange  that 
such  a  trip  should  ever  have  entered  the  dreams 
of  any  person,  however  enthusiastic  and  full  of 
youthful  daring,  particularly  under  the  disad- 
vantages of  poor  health,  of  funds  less  than  a 
I  169] 


A  cThousand-Mile  TValk 

hundred  dollars,  and  of  the  insalubrity  of  the 
Amazon  Valley. 

Fortunately,  as  I  said,  after  visiting  all  the 
shipping  agencies,  I  could  not  find  a  vessel  of 
any  sort  bound  for  South  America,  and  so  made 
up  a  plan  to  go  North,  to  the  longed-for  cold 
weather  of  New  York,  and  thence  to  the  forests 
and  mountains  of  California.  There,  I  thought, 
I  shall  find  health  and  new  plants  and  moun- 
tains, and  after  a  year  spent  in  that  interesting 
country  I  can  carry  out  my  Amazon  plans. 

It  seemed  hard  to  leave  Cuba  thus  unseen 
and  unwalked,  but  illness  forbade  my  stay  and 
I  had  to  comfort  myself  with  the  hope  of  return- 
ing to  its  waiting  treasures  in  full  health.  In 
the  mean  time  I  prepared  for  immediate  de- 
parture. When  I  was  resting  in  one  of  the  Ha- 
vana gardens,  I  noticed  in  a  New  York  paper 
an  advertisement  of  cheap  fares  to  California. 
I  consulted  Captain  Parsons  concerning  a  pass- 
age to  New  York,  where  I  could  find  a  ship  for 
California.  At  this  time  none  of  the  California 
ships  touched  at  Cuba. 

[  170  ] 


7#  California 


"Well,"  said  he,  pointing  toward  the  middle 
of  the  harbor,  "there  is  a  trim  little  schooner 
loaded  with  oranges  for  New  York,  and  these 
little  fruiters  are  fast  sailers.  You  had  better 
see  her  captain  about  a  passage,  for  she  must 
be  about  ready  to  sail."  So  I  jumped  into  the 
dinghy  and  a  sailor  rowed  me  over  to  the  fruiter. 
Going  aboard,  I  inquired  for  the  captain,  who 
soon  appeared  on  deck  and  readily  agreed  to 
carry  me  to  New  York  for  twenty-five  dollars. 
Inquiring  when  he  would  sail,  "To-morrow 
morning  at  daylight,"  he  replied,  "if  this 
norther  slacks  a  little ;  but  my  papers  are  made 
out,  and  you  will  have  to  see  the  American 
consul  to  get  permission  to  leave  on  my  ship." 

I  immediately  went  to  the  city,  but  was  un- 
able to  find  the  consul,  whereupon  I  deter- 
mined to  sail  for  New  York  without  any  formal 
leave.  Early  next  morning,  after  leaving  the 
Island  Belle  and  bidding  Captain  Parsons 
good-bye,  I  was  rowed  to  the  fruiter  and  got 
aboard.  Notwithstanding  the  north  wind  was 
still  as  boisterous  as  ever,  our  Dutch  captain 
[  171  1 


A  Thousand-Mile  TValk 

was  resolved  to  face  it,  confident  in  the  strength 
of  his  all-oak  little  schooner. 

Vessels  leaving  the  harbor  are  stopped  at  the 
Mono  Castle  to  have  their  clearance  papers 
examined;  in  particular,  to  see  that  no  runa- 
way slaves  were  being  carried  away.  The  offi- 
cials came  alongside  our  little  ship,  but  did  not 
come  aboard.  They  were  satisfied  by  a  glance 
at  the  consul's  clearance  paper,  and  with  the 
declaration  of  the  captain,  when  asked  whether 

he  had  any  negroes,  that  he  had  "not  a  d d 

one."  "All  right,  then,"  shouted  the  officials, 
"farewell!  A  pleasant  voyage  to  you!"  As  my 
name  was  not  on  the  ship's  papers,  I  stayed 
below,  out  of  sight,  until  I  felt  the  heaving  of 
the  waves  and  knew  that  we  were  fairly  out  on 
the  open  sea.  The  Castle  towers,  the  hills,  the 
palms,  and  the  wave-white  strand,  all  faded  in 
the  distance,  and  our  mimic  sea-bird  was  at 
home  in  the  open  stormy  gulf,  curtsying  to 
every  wave  and  facing  bravely  to  the  wind. 

Two  thousand  years  ago  our  Saviour  told 
Nicodemus  that  he  did  not  know  where  the 
[  172  ] 


To  California 


winds  came  from,  nor  where  they  were  going. 
And  now  in  this  Golden  Age,  though  we  Gen- 
tiles know  the  birthplace  of  many  a  wind  and 
also  "whither  it  is  going,"  yet  we  know  about 
as  little  of  winds  in  general  as  those  Palestinian 
Jews,  and  our  ignorance,  despite  the  powers  of 
science,  can  never  be  much  less  profound  than 
it  is  at  present. 

The  substance  of  the  winds  is  too  thin  for 
human  eyes,  their  written  language  is  too  diffi- 
cult for  human  minds,  and  their  spoken  lan- 
guage mostly  too  faint  for  the  ears.  A  mechan- 
ism is  said  to  have  been  invented  whereby  the 
human  organs  of  speech  are  made  to  write 
their  own  utterances.  But  without  any  extra 
mechanical  contrivance,  every  speaker  also 
writes  as  he  speaks.  All  things  in  the  creation 
of  God  register  their  own  acts.  The  poet  was 
mistaken  when  he  said,  "From  the  wing  no  scar 
the  sky  sustains."  His  eyes  were  simply  too 
dim  to  see  the  scar.  In  sailing  past  Cuba  I 
could  see  a  fringe  of  foam  along  the  coast,  but 
could  hear  no  sound  of  waves,  simply  because 
[  i73  1 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 

my  ears  could  not  hear  wave-dashing  at  that 
distance.  Yet  every  bit  of  spray  was  sounding 
in  my  ears. 

The  subject  brings  to  mind  a  few  recollec- 
tions of  the  winds  I  heard  in  my  late  journey. 
In  my  walk  from  Indiana  to  the  Gulf,  earth 
and  sky,  plants  and  people,  and  all  things 
changeable  were  constantly  changing.  Even 
in  Kentucky  nature  and  art  have  many  a 
characteristic  shibboleth.  The  people  differ  in 
language  and  in  customs.  Their  architecture 
is  generically  different  from  that  of  their  im- 
mediate neighbors  on  the  north,  not  only  in 
planters'  mansions,  but  in  barns  and  granaries 
and  the  cabins  of  the"  poor.  But  thousands  of 
familiar  flower  faces  looked  from  every  hill 
and  valley.  I  noted  no  difference  in  the  sky, 
and  the  winds  spoke  the  same  things.  I  did 
not  feel  myself  in  a  strange  land. 

In  Tennessee  my  eyes  rested  upon  the  first 
mountain  scenery  I  ever  beheld.  I  was  rising 
higher  than  ever  before ;  strange  trees  were  be- 
ginning to  appear;  alpine  flowers  and  shrubs 
[  174  1 


To  California 


were  meeting  me  at  every  step.  But  these 
Cumberland  Mountains  were  timbered  with 
oak,  and  were  not  unlike  Wisconsin  hills  piled 
upon  each  other,  and  the  strange  plants  were 
like  those  that  were  not  strange.  The  sky  was 
changed  only  a  little,  and  the  winds  not  by  a 
single  detectible  note.  Therefore,  neither  was 
Tennessee  a  strange  land. 

But  soon  came  changes  thick  and  fast.  After 
passing  the  mountainous  corner  of  North  Car- 
olina and  a  little  way  into  Georgia,  I  beheld 
from  one  of  the  last  ridge-summits  of  the  Alle- 
ghanies  that  vast,  smooth,  sandy  slope  that 
reaches  from  the  mountains  to  the  sea.  It  is 
wooded  with  dark,  branchy  pines  which  were 
all  strangers  to  me.  Here  the  grasses,  which 
are  an  earth-covering  at  the  North,  grow  wide 
apart  in  tall  clumps  and  tufts  like  saplings. 
My  known  flower  companions  were  leaving  me 
now,  not  one  by  one  as  in  Kentucky  and  Ten- 
nessee, but  in  whole  tribes  and  genera,  and  com- 
panies of  shining  strangers  came  trooping  upon 
me  in  countless  ranks.  The  sky,  too,  was 
[i75] 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

changed,  and  I  could  detect  strange  sounds  in 
the  winds.  Now  I  began  to  feel  myself  "a 
stranger  in  a  strange  land." 

But  in  Florida  came  the  greatest  change  of 
all,  for  here  grows  the  palmetto,  and  here  blow 
the  winds  so  strangely  toned  by  them.  These 
palms  and  these  winds  severed  the  last  strands 
of  the  cord  that  united  me  with  home.  Now  I 
was  a  stranger,  indeed.  I  was  delighted,  aston- 
ished, confounded,  and  gazed  in  wonderment 
blank  and  overwhelming  as  if  I  had  fallen  upon 
another  star.  But  in  all  of  this  long,  complex 
series  of  changes,  one  of  the  greatest,  and  the 
last  of  all,  was  the  change  I  found  in  the  tone 
and  language  of  the  winds.  They  no  longer 
came  with  the  old  home  music  gathered  from 
open  prairies  and  waving  fields  of  oak,  but 
they  passed  over  many  a  strange  string.  The 
leaves  of  magnolia,  smooth  like  polished  steel, 
the  immense  inverted  forests  of  ttillandsia 
banks,  and  the  princely  crowns  of  palms  — 
upon  these  the  winds  made  strange  music, 
and  at  the  coming-on  of  night  had  overwhelm- 
1  176  J 


"To  California 


ing  power  to  present  the  distance  from  friends 
and  home,  and  the  completeness  of  my  isola- 
tion from  all  things  familiar. 

Elsewhere  I  have  already  noted  that  when 
I  was  a  day's  journey  from  the  Gulf,  a  wind 
blew  upon  me  from  the  sea  —  the  first  sea 
breeze  that  had  touched  me  in  twenty  years.  I 
was  plodding  along  with  my  satchel  and  plants, 
leaning  wearily  forward,  a  little  sore  from  ap- 
proaching fever,  when  suddenly  I  felt  the  salt 
air,  and  before  I  had  time  to  think,  a  whole 
flood  of  long-dormant  associations  rolled  in 
upon  me.  The  Firth  of  Forth,  the  Bass  Rock, 
Dunbar  Castle,  and  the  winds  and  rocks  and 
hills  came  upon  the  wings  of  that  wind,  and 
stood  in  as  clear  and  sudden  light  as  a  land- 
scape flashed  upon  the  view  by  a  blaze  of  light- 
ning in  a  dark  night. 

I  like  to  cling  to  a  small  chip  of  a  ship  like 
ours  when  the  sea  is  rough,  and  long,  comet- 
tailed  streamers  are  blowing  from  the  curled 
top  of  every  wave.  A  big  vessel  responds  awk- 
wardly with  mixed  gestures  to  several  waves 
[  177  1 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

at  once,  lumbering  along  like  a  loose  floating 
island.  But  our  little  schooner,  buoyant  as  a 
gull,  glides  up  one  side  and  down  the  other  of 
each  wave  hill  in  delightful  rhythm.  As  we 
advanced  the  scenery  increased  in  grandeur 
and  beauty.  The  waves  heaved  higher  and 
grew  wider,  with  corresponding  motion.  It 
was  delightful  to  ride  over  this  unsullied  coun- 
try of  ever-changing  water,  and  when  looking 
upward  from  the  shallow  vales,  or  abroad  over 
the  round  expanse  from  the  tops  of  the  wave 
hills,  I  almost  forgot  at  times  that  the  glassy, 
treeless  country  was  forbidden  to  walkers.  How 
delightful  it  would  be  to  ramble  over  it  on  foot, 
enjoying  the  transparent  crystal  ground,  and 
the  music  of  its  rising  and  falling  hillocks,  un- 
marred  by  the  ropes  and  spars  of  a  ship;  to 
study  the  plants  of  these  waving  plains  and 
their  stream-currents ;  to  sleep  in  wild  weather 
in  a  bed  of  phosphorescent  wave-foam,  or  briny 
scented  seaweeds ;  to  see  the  fishes  by  night  in 
pathways  of  phosphorescent  light ;  to  walk  the 
glassy  plain  in  calm,  with  birds  and  flocks  of 
[  178] 


"To  California 


glittering  flying  fishes  here  and  there,  or  by 
night  with  every  star  pictured  in  its  bosom! 

But  even  of  the  land  only  a  small  portion  is 
free  to  man,  and  if  he,  among  other  journeys 
on  forbidden  paths,  ventures  among  the  ice 
lands  and  hot  lands,  or  up  in  the  air  in  balloon 
bubbles,  or  on  the  ocean  in  ships,  or  down  into 
it  a  little  way  in  smothering  diving-bells  —  in 
all  such  small  adventures  man  is  admonished 
and  often  punished  in  ways  which  clearly  show 
him  that  he  is  in  places  for  which,  to  use  an 
approved  phrase,  he  was  never  designed.  How- 
ever, in  view  of  the  rapid  advancement  of  our 
time,  no  one  can  tell  how  far  our  star  may 
finally  be  subdued  to  man's  will.  At  all  events 
I  enjoyed  this  drifting  locomotion  to  some 
extent. 

The  tar-scented  community  of  a  ship  is  a 
study  in  itself — a  despotism  on  the  small 
territory  of  a  few  drifting  planks  pinned  to- 
gether. But  as  our  crew  consisted  only  of  four 
sailors,  a  mate,  and  the  captain,  there  were  no 
signs  of  despotism.  We  all  dined  at  one  table, 
[  i79  1 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

enjoying  our  fine  store  of  salt  mackerel  and 
plum  duff,  with  endless  abundance  of  oranges. 
Not  only  was  the  hold  of  our  little  ship  filled 
with  loose,  unboxed  oranges,  but  the  deck  also 
was  filled  up  level  with  the  rails,  and  we  had 
to  walk  over  the  top  of  the  golden  fruit  on 
boards. 

Flocks  of  flying  fishes  often  flew  across  the 
ship,  one  or  two  occasionally  falling  among 
the  oranges.  These  the  sailors  were  glad  to 
capture  to  sell  in  New  York  as  curiosities,  or 
to  give  away  to  friends.  But  the  captain  had  a 
large  Newfoundland  dog  who  got  the  largest 
share  of  these  unfortunate  fishes.  He  used  to 
jump  from  a  dozing  sleep  as  soon  as  he  heard 
the  fluttering  of  their  wings,  then  pounce  and 
feast  leisurely  on  them  before  the  sailors  could 
reach  the  spot  where  they  fell. 

In  passing  through  the  Straits  of  Florida  the 
winds  died  away  and  the  sea  was  smoothed  to 
unruffled  calm.  The  water  here  is  very  trans- 
parent and  of  delightfully  pure  pale-blue  color, 
as  different  from  ordinary  dull-colored  water 
[  180  ] 


To  California 


as  town  smoke  from  mountain  air.  I  could  see 
the  bottom  as  distinctly  as  one  sees  the  ground 
when  riding  over  it.  It  seemed  strange  that 
our  ship  should  be  upborne  in  such  an  ethereal 
liquid  as  this,  and  that  we  did  not  run  aground 
where  the  bottom  seemed  so  near. 

One  morning,  while  among  the  Bahama  dots 
of  islands,  we  had  calm  sky  and  calm  sea.  The 
sun  had  risen  in  cloudless  glory,  when  I  ob- 
served a  large  flock  of  flying  fish,  a  short  dis- 
tance from  us,  closely  pursued  by  a  dolphin. 
These  fish-swallows  rose  in  pretty  good  order, 
skimmed  swiftly  ahead  for  fifty  or  a  hundred 
yards  in  a  low  arc,  then  dipped  below  the  sur- 
face. Dripping  and  sparkling,  they  rose  again 
in  a  few  seconds  and  glanced  back  into  the  lucid 
brine  with  wonderful  speed,  but  without  appar- 
ent terror. 

At  length  the  dolphin,  gaining  on  the  flock, 
dashed  into  the  midst  of  them,  and  now  all  or- 
der was  at  an  end.  They  rose  in  scattering  dis- 
order, in  all  directions,  like  a  flock  of  birds 
charged  by  a  hawk.  The  pursuing  dolphin  also 
1  181  ] 


A  'Thousand- Mile  Walk 

leaped  into  the  air,  showing  his  splendid  colors 
and  wonderful  speed.  After  the  first  scattering 
flight  all  steady  pursuit  was  useless,  and  the 
dolphin  had  but  to  pounce  about  in  the  broken 
mob  of  its  weary  prey  until  satisfied  with  his 
meal. 

We  are  apt  to  look  out  on  the  great  ocean  and 
regard  it  as  but  a  half-blank  part  of  our  globe 
—  a  sort  of  desert,  "a  waste  of  water."  But, 
land  animals  though  we  be,  land  is  about  as 
unknown  to  us  as  the  sea,  for  the  turbid 
glances  we  gain  of  the  ocean  in  general  through 
commercial  eyes  are  comparatively  worthless. 
Now  that  science  is  making  comprehensive 
surveys  of  the  life  of  the  sea,  and  the  forms  of 
its  basins,  and  similar  surveys  are  being  made 
into  the  land  deserts,  hot  and  cold,  we  may  at 
length  discover  that  the  sea  is  as  full  of  life  as 
the  land.  None  can  tell  how  far  man's  knowl- 
edge may  yet  reach. 

After  passing  the  Straits  and  sailing  up  the 
coast,  when  about  opposite  the  south  end  of  the 
Carolina  coast,  we  had  stiff  head  winds  all  the 
[  182  ] 


To  California 


way  to  New  York  and  our  able  little  vessel  was 
drenched  all  day  long.  Of  course  our  load  of 
oranges  suffered,  and  since  they  were  boarded 
over  level  with  the  rail,  we  had  difficulty  in 
walking  and  had  many  chances  of  being  washed 
overboard.  The  flying  fishes  off  Cape  Hatteras 
appeared  to  take  pleasure  in  shooting  across 
from  wave-top  to  wave-top.  They  avoided  the 
ship  during  the  day,  but  frequently  fell  among 
the  oranges  at  night.  The  sailors  caught  many, 
but  our  big  Newfoundland  dog  jumped  for  them 
faster  than  the  sailors,  and  so  almost  monop- 
olized the  game. 

When  dark  night  fell  on  the  stormy  sea,  the 
breaking  waves  of  phosphorescent  light  were  a 
glorious  sight.  On  such  nights  I  stood  on  the 
bowsprit  holding  on  by  a  rope  for  hours  in  order 
to  enjoy  this  phenomenon.  How  wonderful 
this  light  is !  Developed  in  the  sea  by  myriads 
of  organized  beings,  it  gloriously  illuminates  the 
pathways  of  the  fishes,  and  every  breaking 
wave,  and  in  some  places  glows  over  large  areas 
like  sheet  lightning.  We  sailed  through  large 
[  ift  1 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

fields  of  seaweed,  of  which  I  procured  speci- 
mens. I  thoroughly  enjoyed  life  in  this  novel 
little  tar-and-oakum  home,  and,  as  the  end  of 
our  voyage  drew  nigh,  I  was  sorry  at  the 
thought  of  leaving  it. 

We  were  now,  on  the  twelfth  day,  approach- 
ing New  York,  the  big  ship  metropolis.  We 
were  in  sight  of  the  coast  all  day.  The  leafless 
trees  and  the  snow  appeared  wonderfully 
strange.  It  was  now  about  the  end  of  February 
and  snow  covered  the  ground  nearly  to  the 
water's  edge.  Arriving,  as  we  did,  in  this  rough 
winter  weather  from  the  intense  heat  and  gen- 
eral tropical  luxuriance  of  Cuba,  the  leafless, 
snow-white  woods  of  New  York  struck  us  with 
all  the  novelty  and  impressiveness  of  a  new 
world.  A  frosty  blast  was  sweeping  seaward 
from  Sandy  Hook.  The  sailors  explored  their 
wardrobes  for  their  long-cast-off  woolens,  and 
pulled  the  ropes  and  managed  the  sails  while 
muffled  in  clothing  to  the  rotundity  of  Eskimos. 
For  myself,  long  burdened  with  fever,  the  frosty 
wind,  as  it  sifted  through  my  loosened  bones, 
[  184  1 


"To  California 


was  more  delicious  and  grateful  than  ever  was 
a  spring-scented  breeze. 

We  now  had  plenty  of  company;  fleets  of 
vessels  were  on  the  wing  from  all  countries. 
Our  taut  little  racer  outwinded  without  ex- 
ception all  who,  like  her,  were  going  to  the  port. 
Toward  evening  we  were  grinding  and  wedg- 
ing our  way  through  the  ice-field  of  the  river 
delta,  which  we  passed  with  difficulty.  Arrived 
in  port  at  nine  o'clock.  The  ship  was  deposited, 
like  a  cart  at  market,  in  a  proper  slip,  and  next 
morning  we  and  our  load  of  oranges,  one 
third  rotten,  were  landed.  Thus  all  the  pur- 
poses of  our  voyage  were  accomplished. 

On  our  arrival  the  captain,  knowing  some- 
thing of  the  lightness  of  my  purse,  told  me 
that  I  could  continue  to  occupy  my  bed  on 
the  ship  until  I  sailed  for  California,  getting 
my  meals  at  a  near-by  restaurant.  "This  is 
the  way  we  are  all  doing/'  he  said.  Consult- 
ing the  newspapers,  I  found  that  the  first  ship, 
the  Nebraska,  sailed  for  Aspinwall  in  about 
ten  days,  and  that  the  steerage  passage  to 
[  185  ] 


r 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

San  Francisco  by  way  of  the  Isthmus  was  only 
forty  dollars. 

In  the  mean  time  I  wandered  about  the  city 
without  knowing  a  single  person  in  it.  My  walks 
extended  but  little  beyond  sight  of  my  little 
schooner  home.  I  saw  the  name  Central  Park 
on  some  of  the  street-cars  and  thought  I  would 
like  to  visit  it,  but,  fearing  that  I  might  not  be 
able  to  find  my  way  back,  I  dared  not  make  the 
adventure.  I  felt  completely  lost  in  the  vast 
throngs  of  people,  the  noise  of  the  streets,  and 
the  immense  size  of  the  buildings.  Often  I 
thought  I  would  like  to  explore  the  city  if,  like 
a  lot  of  wild  hills  and  valleys,  it  was  clear  of 
inhabitants. 

The  day  before  the  sailing  of  the  Panama 
ship  I  bought  a  pocket  map  of  California  and 
allowed  myself  to  be  persuaded  to  buy  a  dozen 
large  maps,  mounted  on  rollers,  with  a  map  of 
the  world  on  one  side  and  the  United  States  on 
the  other.  In  vain  I  said  I  had  no  use  for  them. 
"But  surely  you  want  to  make  money  in  Cali- 
fornia, don't  you  ?  Everything  out  there  is  very 
[  186] 


To  California 


dear.  We'll  sell  you  a  dozen  of  these  fine  maps 
for  two  dollars  each  and  you  can  easily  sell  them 
in  California  for  ten  dollars  apiece."  I  foolishly 
allowed  myself  to  be  persuaded.  The  maps 
made  a  very  large,  awkward  bundle,  but  for- 
tunately it  was  the  only  baggage  I  had  except 
my  little  plant  press  and  a  small  bag.  I  laid 
them  in  my  berth  in  the  steerage,  for  they  were 
too  large  to  be  stolen  and  concealed. 

There  was  a  savage  contrast  between  life  in 
the  steerage  and  my  fine  home  on  the  little  ship 
fruiter.  Never  before  had  I  seen  such  a  barbar- 
ous mob,  especially  at  meals.  Arrived  at  Aspin- 
wall-Colon,  we  had  half  a  day  to  ramble  about 
before  starting  across  the  Isthmus.  Never  shall 
I  forget  the  glorious  flora,  especially  for  the 
first  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  along  the  Chagres 
River.  The  riotous  exuberance  of  great  forest 
trees,  glowing  in  purple,  red,  and  yellow  flow- 
ers, far  surpassed  anything  I  had  ever  seen, 
especially  of  flowering  trees,  either  in  Florida 
or  Cuba.  I  gazed  from  the  car-platform  en- 
chanted. I  fairly  cried  for  joy  and  hoped  that 
[  187] 


A  Thousand- Mile  Walk 

sometime  I  should  be  able  to  return  and  en- 
joy and  study  this  most  glorious  of  forests  to 
my  heart's  content.  We  reached  San  Francisco 
about  the  first  of  April,  and  I  remained  there 
only  one  day,  before  starting  for  Yosemite 
Valley.1 

I  followed  the  Diablo  foothills  along  the  San 
Jose  Valley  to  Gilroy,  thence  over  the  Diablo 
Mountains  to  the  valley  of  the  San  Joaquin 
by  the  Pacheco  Pass,  thence  down  the  valley 
opposite  the  mouth  of  the  Merced  River,  thence 
across  the  San  Joaquin,  and  up  into  the  Sierra 
Nevada  to  the  mammoth  trees  of  Mariposa, 
and  the  glorious  Yosemite,  and  thence  down  the 
Merced  to  this  place.2  The  goodness  of  the 
weather  as  I  journeyed  toward  Pacheco  was  be- 
yond all  praise  and  description  —  fragrant,  mel- 
low, and  bright.  The  sky  was  perfectly  deli- 
cious, sweet  enough  for  the  breath  of  angels; 
every  draught  of  it  gave  a  separate  and  distinct 

1  At  this  point  the  journal  ends.  The  remainder  of  this 
chapter  is  taken  from  a  letter  written  to  Mrs.  Ezra  S.  Carr 
from  the  neighborhood  of  Twenty  Hill  Hollow  in  July,  1 868. 

2  Near  Snelling,  Merced  County,  California. 

[  188  ] 


To  California 


piece  of  pleasure.  I  do  not  believe  that  Adam 
and  Eve  ever  tasted  better  in  their  balmiest 
nook. 

The  last  of  the  Coast  Range  foothills  were 
in  near  view  all  the  way  to  Gilroy.  Their  union 
with  the  valley  is  by  curves  and  slopes  of  inim- 
itable beauty.  They  were  robed  with  the  green- 
est grass  and  richest  light  I  ever  beheld,  and 
were  colored  and  shaded  with  myriads  of  flow- 
ers of  every  hue,  chiefly  of  purple  and  golden 
yellow.  Hundreds  of  crystal  rills  joined  song 
with  the  larks,  filling  all  the  valley  with  music 
like  a  sea,  making  it  Eden  from  end  to  end. 

The  scenery,  too,  and  all  of  nature  in  the 
Pass  is  fairly  enchanting.  Strange  and  beauti- 
ful mountain  ferns  are  there,  low  in  the  dark 
canons  and  high  upon  the  rocky  sunlit  peaks; 
banks  of  blooming  shrubs,  and  sprinklings  and 
gatherings  of  garment  flowers,  precious  and 
pure  as  ever  enjoyed  the  sweets  of  a  mountain 
home.  And  oh !  what  streams  are  there !  beam- 
ing, glancing,  each  with  music  of  its  own,  sing- 
ing as  they  go,  in  shadow  and  light,  onward 
[  189] 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

upon  their  lovely,  changing  pathways  to  the 
sea.  And  hills  rise  over  hills,  and  mountains 
over  mountains,  heaving,  waving,  swelling,  in 
most  glorious,  overpowering,  unreadable  maj- 
esty. 

When  at  last,  stricken  and  faint  like  a  crushed 
insect,  you  hope  to  escape  from  all  the  terrible 
grandeur  of  these  mountain  powers,  other  foun- 
tains, other  oceans  break  forth  before  you ;  for 
there,  in  clear  view,  over  heaps  and  rows  of 
foothills,  is  laid  a  grand,  smooth,  outspread 
plain,  watered  by  a  river,  and  another  range 
of  peaky,  snow-capped  mountains  a  hundred 
miles  in  the  distance.  That  plain  is  the  valley 
of  the  San  Joaquin,  and  those  mountains  are 
the  great  Sierra  Nevada.  The  valley  of  the  San 
Joaquin  is  the  floweriest  piece  of  world  I  ever 
walked,  one  vast,  level,  even  flower-bed,  a 
sheet  of  flowers,  a  smooth  sea,  ruffled  a  little  in 
the  middle  by  the  tree  fringing  of  the  river  and 
of  smaller  cross-streams  here  and  there,  from 
the  mountains. 

Florida  is  indeed  a  "land  of  flowers,"  but 
[  190  ] 


To  California 


for  every  flower  creature  that  dwells  in  its  most 
delightsome  places  more  than  a  hundred  are 
living  here.  Here,  here  is  Florida!  Here  they 
are  not  sprinkled  apart  with  grass  between  as 
on  our  prairies,  but  grasses  are  sprinkled  among 
the  flowers ;  not  as  in  Cuba,  flowers  piled  upon 
flowers,  heaped  and  gathered  into  deep,  glow- 
ing masses,  but  side  by  side,  flower  to  flower, 
petal  to  petal,  touching  but  not  entwined, 
branches  weaving  past  and  past  each  other, 
yet  free  and  separate  —  one  smooth  garment, 
mosses  next  the  ground,  grasses  above,  petaled 
flowers  between. 

Before  studying  the  flowers  of  this  valley  and 
their  sky,  and  all  of  the  furniture  and  sounds 
and  adornments  of  their  home,  one  can  scarce 
believe  that  their  vast  assemblies  are  perma- 
nent ;  but  rather  that,  actuated  by  some  plant 
purpose,  they  had  convened  from  every  plain 
and  mountain  and  meadow  of  their  kingdom, 
and  that  the  different  coloring  of  patches,  acres, 
and  miles  marks  the  bounds  of  the  various 
tribes  and  family  encampments. 


' 


CHAPTER  IX 

TWENTY  HILL   HOLLOW  * 

WERE  we  to  cross-cut  the  Sierra 
Nevada  into  blocks  a  dozen  miles 
or  so  in  thickness,  each  section 
would  contain  a  Yosemite  Valley  and  a  river, 
together  with  a  bright  array  of  lakes  and  mead- 
ows, rocks  and  forests.  The  grandeur  and  in- 
exhaustible beauty  of  each  block  would  be  so 
vast  and  over-satisfying  that  to  choose  among 
them  would  be  like  selecting  slices  of  bread 
cut  from  the  same  loaf.  One  bread-slice  might 
have  burnt  spots,  answering  to  craters ;  another 
would  be  more  browned ;  another,  more  crusted 
or  raggedly  cut ;  but  all  essentially  the  same.  In 
no  greater  degree  would  the  Sierra  slices  differ 
in  general  character.  Nevertheless,  we  all  would 
choose  the  Merced  slice,  because,  being  easier 
of  access,  it  has  been  nibbled  and  tasted,  and 

1  This  is  the  hub  of  the  region  where  Mr.  Muir  spent  the 
greater  part  of  the  summer  of  1868  and  the  spring  of  1869. 

[  192  ] 


"Twenty  Hill  Hollow 

pronounced  very  good;  and  because  of  the  con- 
centrated form  of  its  Yosemite,  caused  by  cer- 
tain conditions  of  baking,  yeasting,  and  glacier- 
frosting  of  this  portion  of  the  great  Sierra  loaf. 
In  like  manner,  we  readily  perceive  that  the 
great  central  plain  is  one  batch  of  bread — 
one  golden  cake  —  and  we  are  loath  to  leave 
these  magnificent  loaves  for  crumbs,  however 
good. 

\  After  our  smoky  sky  has  been  washed  in  the 
rains  of  winter,  the  whole  complex  row  of 
Sierras  appears  from  the  plain  as  a  simple 
wall,  slightly  beveled,  and  colored  in  horizontal 
bands  laid  one  above  another,  as  if  entirely 
composed  of  partially  straightened  rainbows. 
So,  also,  the  plain  seen  from  the  mountains  has 
the  same  simplicity  of  smooth  surface,  colored 
purple  and  yellow,  like  a  patchwork  of  irised 
clouds.  But  when  we  descend  to  this  smooth- 
furred  sheet,  we  discover  complexity  in  its  phys- 
ical conditions  equal  to  that  of  the  mountains, 
though  less  strongly  marked.  In  particular, 
that  portion  of  the  plain  lying  between  the 
I  i93  1 


A  "Thousand-Mile  Walk 

Merced  and  the  Tuolumne,  within  ten  miles 
of  the  slaty  foothills,  is  most  elaborately  carved 
into  valleys,  hollows,  and  smooth  undulations, 
and  among  them  is  laid  the  Merced  Yosemite 
of  the  plain  —  Twenty  Hill  Hollow. 

This  delightful  Hollow  is  less  than  a  mile  in 
length,  and  of  just  sufficient  width  to  form 
a  well-proportioned  oval.  It  is  situated  about 
midway  between  the  two  rivers,  and  five  miles 
from  the  Sierra  foothills.  Its  banks  are  formed 
of  twenty  hemispherical  hills ;  hence  its  name. 
They  surround  and  enclose  it  on  all  sides, 
leaving  only  one  narrow  opening  toward  the 
southwest  for  the  escape  of  its  waters.  The 
bottom  of  the  Hollow  is  about  two  hundred 
feet  below  the  level  of  the  surrounding  plain, 
and  the  tops  of  its  hills  are  slightly  below  the 
general  level.  Here  is  no  towering  dome,  no 
Tissiack,  to  mark  its  place ;  and  one  may  ramble 
close  upon  its  rim  before  he  is  made  aware  of 
its  existence.  Its  twenty  hills  are  as  wonder- 
fully regular  in  size  and  position  as  in  form. 
They  are  like  big  marbles  half  buried  in  the 
[  i94  1 


- 


Twenty  Hill  Hollow 

ground,  each  poised  and  settled  daintily  into 
its  place  at  a  regular  distance  from  its  fellows, 
making  a  charming  fairy-land  of  hills,  with 
small,  grassy  valleys  between,  each  valley  hav- 
ing a  tiny  stream  of  its  own,  which  leaps  and 
sparkles  out  into  the  open  hollow,  uniting  to 
form  Hollow  Creek. 

Like  all  others  in  the  immediate  neighbor- 
hood, these  twenty  hills  are  composed  of  strati- 
fied lavas  mixed  with  mountain  drift  in  vary- 
ing proportions.  Some  strata  are  almost  wholly 
made  up  of  volcanic  matter  —  lava  and  cinders 
—  thoroughly  ground  and  mixed  by  the  waters 
that  deposited  them;  others  are  largely  com- 
posed of  slate  and  quartz  boulders  of  all  de- 
grees of  coarseness,  forming  conglomerates.  A 
few  clear,  open  sections  occur,  exposing  an 
elaborate  history  of  seas,  and  glaciers,  and  vol- 
canic floods  —  chapters  of  cinders  and  ashes 
that  picture  dark,  days  when  these  bright 
snowy  mountains  were  clouded  in  smoke  and 
rivered  and  laked  with  living  fire.  A  fearful 
age,  say  mortals,  when  these  Sierras  flowed 
[  i95  ] 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

lava  to  the  sea.  What  horizons  of  flame !  What 
atmospheres  of  ashes  and  smoke ! 

The  conglomerates  and  lavas  of  this  region 
are  readily  denuded  by  water.  In  the  time 
when  their  parent  sea  was  removed  to  form 
this  golden  plain,  their  regular  surface,  in  great 
part  covered  with  shallow  lakes,  showed  little 
variation  from  motionless  level  until  torrents 
of  rain  and  floods  from  the  mountains  gradu- 
ally sculptured  the  simple  page  to  the  present 
diversity  of  bank  and  brae,  creating,  in  the  sec- 
tion between  the  Merced  and  the  Tuolumne, 
Twenty  Hill  Hollow,  Lily  Hollow,  and  the 
lovely  valleys  of  Cascade  and  Castle  Creeks, 
with  many  others  nameless  and  unknown,  seen 
only  by  hunters  and  shepherds,  %unk  in  the 
wide  bosom  of  the  plain,  like  undiscovered  gold. 
Twenty  Hill  Hollow  is  a  fine  illustration  of  a 
valley  created  by  erosion  of  water.  Here  are 
no  Washington  columns,  no  angular  El  Capi- 
tans.  The  hollow  canons,  cut  in  soft  lavas,  are 
not  so  deep  as  to  require  a  single  earthquake  at 
the  hands  of  science,  much  less  a  baker's  dozen 
[  196  1 


'Twenty  Hill  Hollow 

of  those  convenient  tools  demanded  for  the 
making  of  mountain  Yosemites,  and  our  mod- 
erate arithmetical  standards  are  not  outraged 
by  a  single  magnitude  of  this  simple,  compre- 
hensible hollow. 

The  present  rate  of  denudation  of  this  portion 
of  the  plain  seems  to  be  about  one  tenth  of  an 
inch  per  year.  This  approximation  is  based 
upon  observations  made  upon  stream-banks 
and  perennial  plants.  Rains  and  winds  remove 
mountains  without  disturbing  their  plant  or 
animal  inhabitants.  Hovering  petrels,  the  fishes 
and  floating  plants  of  ocean,  sink  and  rise  in 
beautiful  rhythm  with  its  waves;  and,  in  like 
manner,  the  birds  and  plants  of  the  plain  sink 
and  rise  with  these  waves  of  land,  the  only  dif- 
ference being  that  the  fluctuations  are  more 
rapid  in  the  one  case  than  in  the  other. 

In  March  and  April  the  bottom  of  the  Hol- 
low and  every  one  of  its  hills  are  smoothly 
covered  and  plushed  with  yellow  and  purple 
flowers,  the  yellow  predominating.  They  are 
mostly  social  Composite,  with  a  few  claytonias, 
[  i97  J 


A  Thousand- Mile  TValk 

giltes,  eschscholtzias,  white  and  yellow  violets, 
blue  and  yellow  lilies,  dodecatheons,  and  eri- 
ogonums  set  in  a  half-floating  maze  of  purple 
grasses.   There  is  but  one  vine  in  the  Hollow 

—  the  Megarthiza  [Echinocystis  T.  &  D.]  or 
"Big  Root."  The  only  bush  within  a  mile  of 
it,  about  four  feet  in  height,  forms  so  remark- 
able an  object  upon  the  universal  smoothness 
that  my  dog  barks  furiously  around  it,  at  a 
cautious  distance,  as  if  it  were  a  bear.  Some  of 
the  hills  have  rock  ribs  that  are  brightly  colored 
with  red  and  yellow  lichens,  and  in  moist  nooks 
there  are  luxuriant  mosses  —  Bartramia,  Di- 
cranum,  Funaria,  and  several  Hypnums.  In 
cool,  sunless  coves  the  mosses  are  companioned 
with  ferns  —  a  Cystopteris  and  the  little  gold- 
dusted  rock  fern,  Gymnogramma  triangularis. 

The  Hollow  is  not  rich  in  birds.  The  meadow- 
lark  homes  there,  and  the  little  burrowing 
owl,  the  killdeer,  and  a  species  of  sparrow.  Oc- 
casionally a  few  ducks  pay  a  visit  to  its  waters, 
and  a  few  tall  herons  —  the  blue  and  the  white 

—  may  at  times  be  seen  stalking  along  the 

[  198  ] 


"Twenty  Hill  Hollow 

creek;  and  the  sparrow  hawk  and  gray  eagle  ' 
come  to  hunt.  The  lark,  who  does  nearly  all 
the  singing  for  the  Hollow,  is  not  identical 
in  species  with  the  meadowlark  of  the  East, 
though  closely  resembling  it ;  richer  flowers  and 
skies  have  inspired  him  with  a  better  song  than 
was  ever  known  to  the  Atlantic  lark. 

I  have  noted  three  distinct  lark-songs  here. 
The  words  of  the  first,  which  I  committed  to 
memory  at  one  of  their  special  meetings,  spelled 
as  sung,  are,  "Wee-ro  spee-ro  wee-o  weer-ly 
wee-it."  On  the  20th  of  January,  1869,  they 
sang  "Queed-lix  boodle,"  repeating  it  with 
great  regularity,  for  hours  together,  to  music 
sweet  as  the  sky  that  gave  it.  On  the  22d  of 
the  same  month,  they  sang  "Chee  chool  chee- 
dildy  choodildy."  An  inspiration  is  this  song  of 
the  blessed  lark,  and  universally  absorbable  by 
human  souls.  It  seems  to  be  the  only  bird-song 
of  these  hills  that  has  been  created  with  any 
direct  reference  to  us.   Music  is  one  of  the  at- 

1  Mr.  Muir  doubtless  meant  the  golden  eagle  (Aquila 
chrysaetos). 

I  199  1 


A  "Thousand- Mile  Walk 

tributes  of  matter,  into  whatever  forms  it  may- 
be organized.  Drops  and  sprays  of  air  are 
specialized,  and  made  to  plash  and  churn  in  the 
bosom  of  a  lark,  as  infinitesimal  portions  of 
air  plash  and  sing  about  the  angles  and  hollows 
of  sand-grains,  as  perfectly  composed  and  pre- 
destined as  the  rejoicing  anthems  of  worlds; 
but  our  senses  are  not  fine  enough  to  catch 
the  tones.  Fancy  the  waving,  pulsing  melody 
of  the  vast  flower-congregations  of  the  Hollow 
flowing  from  myriad  voices  of  tuned  petal  and 
pistil,  and  heaps  of  sculptured  pollen.  Scarce 
one  note  is  for  us ;  nevertheless,  God  be  thanked 
for  this  blessed  instrument  hid  beneath  the 
feathers  of  a  lark. 

The  eagle  does  not  dwell  in  the  Hollow;  he 
only  floats  there  to  hunt  the  long-eared  hare. 
One  day  I  saw  a  fine  specimen  alight  upon  a 
hillside.  I  was  at  first  puzzled  to  know  what 
power  could  fetch  the  sky-king  down  into  the 
grass  with  the  larks.  Watching  him  attentively, 
I  soon  discovered  the  cause  of  his  earthiness. 
He  was  hungry  and  stood  watching  a  long- 
[  200  J 


Twenty  Hill  Hollow 

eared  hare,  which  stood  erect  at  the  door  of  his 
burrow,  staring  his  winged  fellow  mortal  full 
in  the  face.  They  were  about  ten  feet  apart. 
Should  the  eagle  attempt  to  snatch  the  hare, 
he  would  instantly  disappear  in  the  ground. 
Should  long-ears,  tired  of  inaction,  venture  to 
skim  the  hill  to  some  neighboring  burrow,  the 
eagle  would  swoop  above  him  and  strike  him 
dead  with  a  blow  of  his  pinions,  bear  him  to 
some  favorite  rock  table,  satisfy  his  hunger, 
wipe  off  all  marks  of  grossness,  and  go  again  to 
the  sky. 

Since  antelopes  have  been  driven  away,  the 
hare  is  the  swiftest  animal  of  the  Hollow. 
When  chased  by  a  dog  he  will  not  seek  a  bur- 
row, as  when  the  eagle  wings  in  sight,  but 
skims  wavily  from  hill  to  hill  across  connecting 
curves,  swift  and  effortless  as  a  bird-shadow. 
One  that  I  measured  was  twelve  inches  in 
height  at  the  shoulders.  His  body  was  eighteen 
inches,  from  nose-tip  to  tail.  His  great  ears 
measured  six  and  a  half  inches  in  length  and 
two  in  width.  His  ears  —  which,  notwithstand- 
[  201  ] 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

ing  their  great  size,  he  wears  gracefully  and  be- 
comingly —  have  procured  for  him  the  homely 
nickname,  by  which  he  is  commonly  known,  of 
"Jackass  rabbit."  Hares  are  very  abundant 
over  all  the  plain  and  up  in  the  sunny,  lightly 
wooded  foothills,  but  their  range  does  not  ex- 
tend into  the  close  pine  forests. 

Coyotes,  or  California  wolves,  are  occasion- 
ally seen  gliding  about  the  Hollow,  but  they  are 
not  numerous,  vast  numbers  having  been  slain 
by  the  traps  and  poisons  of  sheep-raisers.  The 
coyote  is  about  the  size  of  a  small  shepherd- 
dog,  beautiful  and  graceful  in  motion,  with 
erect  ears,  and  a  bushy  tail,  like  a  fox.  Inas- 
much as  he  is  fond  of  mutton,  he  is  cordially 
detested  by  "sheep-men"  and  nearly  all  cul- 
tured people. 

The  ground-squirrel  is  the  most  common  ani- 
mal of  the  Hollow.  In  several  hills  there  is  a 
soft  stratum  in  which  they  have  tunneled  their 
homes.  It  is  interesting  to  observe  these  rodent 
towns  in  time  of  alarm.  Their  one  circular 
street  resounds  with  sharp,  lancing  outcries  of 
[  202  ] 


"Twenty  Hill  Hollow 

"Seekit,  seek,  seek,  seekit!"  Near  neighbors, 
peeping  cautiously  half  out  of  doors,  engage 
in  low,  purring  chat.  Others,  bolt  upright  on 
the  doorsill  or  on  the  rock  above,  shout  excitedly 
as  if  calling  attention  to  the  motions  and  as- 
pects of  the  enemy.  Like  the  wolf,  this  little 
animal  is  accursed,  because  of  his  relish  for 
grain.  What  a  pity  that  Nature  should  have 
made  so  many  small  mouths  palated  like  our 
own! 

All  the  seasons  of  the  Hollow  are  warm  and 
bright,  and  flowers  bloom  through  the  whole 
year.  But  the  grand  commencement  of  the  an- 
nual genesis  of  plant  and  insect  life  is  governed 
by  the  setting-in  of  the  rains,  in  December  or 
January.  The  air,  hot  and  opaque,  is  then 
washed  and  cooled.  Plant  seeds,  which  for 
six  months  have  lain  on  the  ground  dry  as  if 
garnered  in  a  farmer's  bin,  at  once  unfold  their 
treasured  life.  Flies  hum  their  delicate  tunes. 
Butterflies  come  from  their  coffins,  like  cotyle- 
dons from  their  husks.  The  network  of  dry 
water-courses,  spread  over  valleys  and  hollows, 
I  203  ] 


A  cfhousand-Mile  Walk 

suddenly  gushes  with  bright  waters,  sparkling 
and  pouring  from  pool  to  pool,  like  dusty 
mummies  risen  from  the  dead  and  set  living 
and  laughing  with  color  and  blood.  The  weather 
grows  in  beauty,  like  a  flower.  Its  roots  in  the 
ground  develop  day-clusters  a  week  or  two  in 
size,  divided  by  and  shaded  in  foliage  of  clouds ; 
or  round  hours  of  ripe  sunshine  wave  and  spray 
in  sky-shadows,  like  racemes  of  berries  half 
hidden  in  leaves. 

These  months  of  so-called  rainy  season  are 
not  filled  with  rain.  Nowhere  else  in  North 
America,  perhaps  in  the  world,  are  Januarys 
so  balmed  and  glowed  with  vital  sunlight.  Re- 
ferring to  my  notes  of  1868  and  1869,  I  find 
that  the  first  heavy  general  rain  of  the  season 
fell  on  the  18th  of  December.  January  yielded 
to  the  Hollow,  during  the  day,  only  twenty 
hours  of  rain,  which  was  divided  among  six 
rainy  days.  February  had  only  three  days  on 
which  rain  fell,  amounting  to  eighteen  and  one- 
half  hours  in  all.  March  had  five  rainy  days. 
April  had  three,  yielding  seven  hours  of  rain. 
[  204  ] 


Twenty  Hill  Hollow 

May  also  had  three  wet  days,  yielding  nine 
hours  of  rain,  and  completed  the  so-called 
"rainy  season"  for  that  year,  which  is  prob- 
ably about  an  average  one.  It  must  be  re- 
membered that  this  rain  record  has  nothing  to 
do  with  what  fell  in  the  night. 

The  ordinary  rainstorm  of  this  region  has 
little  of  that  outward  pomp  and  sublimity  of 
structure  so  characteristic  of  the  storms  of  the 
Mississippi  Valley.  Nevertheless,  we  have  expe- 
rienced rainstorms  out  on  these  treeless  plains, 
in  nights  of  solid  darkness,  as  impressively 
sublime  as  the  noblest  storms  of  the  mountains. 
The  wind,  which  in  settled  weather  blows  from 
the  northwest,  veers  to  the  southeast;  the  sky 
curdles  gradually  and  evenly  to  a  grainless, 
seamless,  homogeneous  cloud;  and  then  comes 
the  rain,  pouring  steadily  and  often  driven 
aslant  by  strong  winds.  In  1869,  more  than 
three  fourths  of  the  winter  rains  came  from 
the  southeast.  One  magnificent  storm  from 
the  northwest  occurred  on  the  21st  of  March; 
an  immense,  round-browed  cloud  came  sail- 
[  205  ] 


A  Thousand-Mile  Walk 

ing  over  the  flowery  hills  in  most  imposing 
majesty,  bestowing  water  as  from  a  sea.  The 
passionate  rain-gush  lasted  only  about  one  min- 
ute, but  was  nevertheless  the  most  magnifi- 
cent cataract  of  the  sky  mountains  that  I  ever 
beheld.  A  portion  of  calm  sky  toward  the 
Sierras  was  brushed  with  thin,  white  cloud- 
tissue,  upon  which  the  rain-torrent  showed  to 
a  great  height  —  a  cloud  waterfall,  which,  like 
those  of  Yosemite,  was  neither  spray,  rain,  nor 
solid  water.  In  the  same  year  the  cloudiness 
of  January,  omitting  rainy  days,  averaged 
0.32;  February,  0.13;  March,  0.20;  April,  0.10; 
May,  0.08.  The  greater  portion  of  this  cloudi- 
ness was  gathered  into  a  few  days,  leaving  the 
others  blocks  of  solid,  universal  sunshine  in 
every  chink  and  pore. 

At  the  end  of  January,  four  plants  were  in 
flower:  a  small  white  cress,  growing  in  large 
patches ;  a  low-set,  umbeled  plant,  with  yellow 
flowers ;  an  eriogonum,  with  flowers  in  leafless 
spangles;  and  a  small  boragewort.  Five  or  six 
mosses  had  adjusted  their  hoods,  and  were  in 
[  206] 


"Twenty  Hill  Hollow 

the  prime  of  life.  In  February,  squirrels,  hares, 
and  flowers  were  in  springtime  joy.  Bright 
plant-constellations  shone  everywhere  about 
the  Hollow.  Ants  were  getting  ready  for  work, 
rubbing  and  sunning  their  limbs  upon  the  husk- 
piles  around  their  doors;  fat,  pollen-dusted, 
"burly,  dozing  humble-bees "  were  rumbling 
among  the  flowers;  and  spiders  were  busy 
mending  up  old  webs,  or  weaving  new  ones. 
Flowers  were  born  every  day,  and  came  gush- 
ing from  the  ground  like  gayly  dressed  children 
from  a  church.  The  bright  air  became  daily 
more  songful  with  fly-wings,  and  sweeter  with 
breath  of  plants. 

In  March,  plant-life  is  more  than  doubled. 
The  little  pioneer  cress,  by  this  time,  goes  to 
seed,  wearing  daintily  embroidered  silicles. 
Several  claytonias  appear;  also,  a  large  white 
leptosiphon[?],  and  two  nemophilas.  A  small 
plantago  becomes  tall  enough  to  wave  and 
show  silky  ripples  of  shade.  Toward  the  end  of 
this  month  or  the  beginning  of  April,  plant-life 
is  at  its  greatest  height.  Few  have  any  just  con- 
[  207  ] 


» 


A  ^Thousand- Mile  Walk 

ception  of  its  amazing  richness.  Count  the 
flowers  of  any  portion  of  these  twenty  hills,  or 
of  the  bottom  of  the  Hollow,  among  the  streams : 
you  will  find  that  there  are  from  one  to  ten 
thousand  upon  every  square  yard,  counting 
the  heads  of  Composites  as  single  flowers.  Yel- 
low Composite  form  by  far  the  greater  portion 
of  this  goldy-way.  Well  may  the  sun  feed  them 
with  his  richest  light,  for  these  shining  sunlets 
are  his  very  children  —  rays  of  his  ray,  beams 
of  his  beam !  One  would  fancy  that  these  Cali- 
fornia days  receive  more  gold  from  the  ground 
than  they  give  to  it.  The  earth  has  indeed 
become  a  sky;  and  the  two  cloudless  skies,  ray- 
ing toward  each  other  flower-beams  and  sun- 
beams, are  fused  and  congolded  into  one  glow- 
ing heaven.  By  the  end  of  April  most  of  the 
Hollow  plants  have  ripened  their  seeds  and 
died ;  but,  undecayed,  still  assist  the  landscape 
with  color  from  persistent  involucres  and  co- 
rolla-like heads  of  chaffy  scales, 
,  In  May,  only  a  few  deep-set  lilies  and  eriog- 
onums  are  left  alive.  June,  July,  August,  and 
[  208  1/ 


Twenty  Hill  Hollow 

September  are  the  season  of  plant  rest,  fol- 
lowed, in  October,  by  a  most  extraordinary  out- 
gush  of  plant-life,  at  the  very  driest  time  of  the 
whole  year.  A  small,  unobtrusive  plant,  Hemi- 
zonia  virgata,  from  six  inches  to  three  feet  in 
height,  with  pale,  glandular  leaves,  suddenly 
bursts  into  bloom,  in  patches  miles  in  extent, 
like  a  resurrection  of  the  gold  of  April.  I  have 
counted  upward  of  three  thousand  heads  upon 
one  plant.  Both  leaves  and  pedicles  are  so 
small  as  to  be  nearly  invisible  among  so  vast 
a  number  of  daisy  golden-heads  that  seem  to 
keep  their  places  unsupported,  like  stars  in  the 
sky.  The  heads  are  about  five  eighths. of  an 
inch  in  diameter;  rays  and  disk-flowers,  yellow; 
stamens,  purple.  The  rays  have  a  rich,  furred 
appearance,  like  the  petals  of  garden  pansies. 
The  prevailing  summer  wind  makes  all  the 
heads  turn  to  the  southeast.  The  waxy  secre- 
tion of  its  leaves  and  involucres  has  suggested 
its  grim  name  of  "tarweed,"  by  which  it  is 
generally  known.  In  our  estimation,  it  is  the 
most  delightful  member  of  the  whole  Compos- 
[  209  ] 


A  Thousand- Mile  JValk 

ite  Family  of  the  plain.  It  remains  in  flower  un- 
til November,  uniting  with  an  eriogonum  that 
continues  the  floral  chain  across  December  to 
the  spring  plants  of  January.  Thus,  although 
nearly  all  of  the  year's  plant-life  is  crowded  into 
February,  March,  and  April,  the  flower  circle 
around  the  Twenty  Hill  Hollow  is  never  broken. 
The  Hollow  may  easily  be  visited  by  tourists 
en  route  for  Yosemite,  as  it  is  distant  only  about 
six  miles  from  Snelling's.  It  is  at  all  seasons  in- 
teresting to  the  naturalist;  but  it  has  little  that 
would  interest  the  majority  of  tourists  earlier 
than  January  or  later  than  April.  If  you  wish  to 
see  how  much  of  light,  life,  and  joy  can  be  got 
into  a  January,  go  to  this  blessed  Hollow.  If 
you  wish  to  see  a  plant-resurrection, — myriads 
of  bright  flowers  crowding  from  the  ground, 
like  souls  to  a  judgment, — go  to  Twenty  Hills 
in  February.  If  you  are  traveling  for  health, 
play  truant  to  doctors  and  friends,  fill  your 
pocket  with  biscuits,  and  hide  in  the  hills  of 
the  Hollow,  lave  in  its  waters,  tan  in  its  golds, 
bask  in  its  flower-shine,  and  your  baptisms  will 
[  210  ] 


twenty  Hill  Hollow 

make  you  a  new  creature  indeed.  Or,  choked 
in  the  sediments  of  society,  so  tired  of  the 
world,  here  will  your  hard  doubts  disappear, 
your  carnal  incrustations  melt  off,  and  your 
soul  breathe  deep  and  free  in  God's  shoreless 
atmosphere  of  beauty  and  love. 

Never  shall  I  forget  my  baptism  in  this  font. 
It  happened  in  January,  a  resurrection  day  for 
many  a  plant  and  for  me.  I  suddenly  found 
myself  on  one  of  its  hills ;  the  Hollow  overflowed 
with  light,  as  a  fountain,  and  only  small,  sun- 
less nooks  were  kept  for  mosseries  and  ferneries. 
Hollow  Creek  spangled  and  mazed  like  a  river. 
The  ground  steamed  with  fragrance.  Light, 
of  unspeakable  richness,  was  brooding  the 
flowers.  Truly,  said  I,  is  California  the  Golden 
State  —  in  metallic  gold,  in  sun  gold,  and  in 
plant  gold.  The  sunshine  for  a  whole  summer 
seemed  condensed  into  the  chambers  of  that 
one  glowing  day.  Every  trace  of  dimness  had 
been  washed  from  the  sky;  the  mountains  were 
dusted  and  wiped  clean  with  clouds  —  Pacheco 
Peak  and  Mount  Diablo,  and  the  waved  blue 
[211  ] 


A  "Thousand-Mile  Walk 

wall  between ;  the  grand  Sierra  stood  along  the 
plain,  colored  in  four  horizontal  bands:  — 
the  lowest,  rose  purple;  the  next  higher,  dark 
purple ;  the  next,  blue ;  and,  above  all,  the  white 
row  of  summits  pointing  to  the  heavens. 

It  may  be  asked,  What  have  mountains  fifty 
or  a  hundred  miles  away  to  do  with  Twenty 
Hill  Hollow  ?  To  lovers  of  the  wild,  these  moun- 
tains are  not  a  hundred  miles  away.  Their 
spiritual  power  and  the  goodness  of  the  sky  make 
them  near,  as  a  circle  of  friends.  They  rise  as 
a  portion  of  the  hilled  walls  of  the  Hollow. 
You  cannot  feel  yourself  out  of  doors;  plain, 
sky,  and  mountains  ray  beauty  which  you  feel. 
You  bathe  in  these  spirit-beams,  turning  round 
and  round,  as  if  warming  at  a  camp-fire.  Pres- 
ently you  lose  consciousness  of  your  own  sepa- 
rate existence:  you  blend  with  the  landscape, 
and  become  part  and  parcel  of  nature. 

THE   END 


Index 


Index 


Agave,  165,  166. 

Agrostis  scabra.  See  Grass, 
rough  hair. 

Alligators,  96-99,  112,  113. 

Animals,  assumed  to  be  made 
for  man,  137,  138;  man- 
eating,  138;  essential  to  the 
cosmos,  139. 

Apricot  vine,  56. 

Aspidium  acrostic hoides.  See 
Fern,  Christmas. 

Asplenium    ebeneum.     See 
Spleenwort,  ebony. 

Asplenium  filix-fcemina,  33. 

Asters,  26,  31,  34,  46,  56. 

Athens,  Georgia,  52. 

Augusta,  Georgia,  54,  56. 

Azaleas,  26,  31. 

Bahama  islands,  181. 

Banana,  63,  64. 

Beale,  Mr.,  43. 

Bird  neighbors,  75,  78. 

Blairsville,  Georgia,  43,  44. 

Blue  Ridge,  44. 

Bluebirds,  135. 

Bonaventure.burying-ground, 
66-82;  oaks  in,  67,  68,  69, 
73;  graves  of,  71,  72;  Muir 
camps  in,  73-78. 

Brake,  common,  33. 

Brant,  135. 


Bread,  importance  of,  95. 
Breakers,  song  of,  162. 
Brier,  sensitive,  18,  19. 
Briers,  cat,  26,  27;  in  Florida 

swamps,  115,  118,  120. 
Burkesville,  Ky.,  14. 
Butterflies,  68,  69. 
Butternut  tree,  12. 

Cactus,  105,  135,  160. 
California,  crooked  route  to, 

169-87;    arrival    in,    188; 

flowers,  189,  190,  191,  197, 

198,   206-10;   the  Golden 

State,  211. 
Cameron,  Mr.,  planter,  60- 

63. 
Cape  Hatteras,  183. 
Carriages,  in  Havana,  154. 
Cats,  vegetable,  133. 
Caves,  Kentucky,  7,  9,  10. 
Cedar  Keys,  123-42;  size  of, 

133- 

Chagres  River,  187. 
Chattahoochee  River,  47,  48. 
Clinch  River,  30,  31. 
Coast  Range  foothills,  189. 
Composite?,  64,  163,  164,  197, 

208,  209. 
Cotton,  an  unhappy  looking 

plant,  13;  picking,  51. 
Coyote,  202. 


[215] 


Index 


Crane,  89. 

Creator  and  creation,  errone- 
ous views  of,  136-42. 

Crows,  135. 

Cuba,  a  sojourn  in,  147-68; 
weather  of,  150,  151;  wild 
plants,  156,  157;  flowery 
vines,  157,  158. 

Cubans,  personal  appearance, 
154;  cruel  to  animals,  156. 

Cumberland  Mountains,  16, 
17-46,  175.   _ 

Cumberland  River,  14. 

Cypress,  57,  58,  63,  64. 

Cystopteris.  See  Fern,  blad- 
der. 

Death,  our  warped  ideas  of, 

70. 
Deer  hunt,  121,  122. 
Deer's  tongue,  34  n. 
Dipping  snuff,  43. 
Dirt,  peculiar  to  civilization, 

109,  no. 
Dolphin,  in  pursuit  of  flying 

fish,  181,  182. 
Doves,  mourning,  135. 

Eagle,  bald,  68,  75. 

Eagle,   golden,    199  and  n., 

200,  201. 
Electricity,  63. 
Elizabethtown,  Ky.,  5. 
Emory  River,  30. 
Erosion,  by  water,  196,  197. 

Farmers,  in  Kentucky,  6;  a 
credulous  one,  19,  20. 


Fern,  bladder,  12,  33,  198. 

Fern,  Christmas,  33. 

Fern,  cinnamon,  18,  26,  91. 

Fern,  Dicks onia,  31,  33. 

Fern,  flowering,  18,  26. 

Fern,  gold-dusted  rock,  198. 

Fernandina,  Florida,  87. 

Ferns,  at  mouth  of  cave,  7. 

Feud,  in  Tennessee,  40. 

Fever,  Muir's  illness  in  Flor- 
ida, 126-29. 

Fever  and  ague,  136. 

Fish,  flying,  180,  183;  pur- 
sued by  dolphin,  181,  182. 

Florida,  swamps,  83-122;  ar- 
rival in,  87;  coast  of,  87,  88; 
forests,  93,  94,  99,  100; 
streams,  100,  101;  a  low 
country,  103;  a  strange 
land,  176;  Straits  of,  180, 
181. 

Flowering  trees,  108,  187. 

Forests,  Kentucky,  1-16; 
pine,  51;  vine  clad,  56; 
Florida,  93,  94,  99,  100. 

Gainesville,  Georgia,  47,  105, 
107. 

Gardenia  florida.  See  Jasmine, 
cape. 

Gardens,  artificial,  11,  167. 

Geese,  wild,  135. 

Georgia,  river  country  of,  47- 
65;  oaks  in,  67,  68,  69;  peo- 
ple and  homes  of,  83,  84;  a 
strange  land,  175,  176. 

Gerardias,  54. 

Ginseng,  41. 


[216] 


Index 


Glasgow  Junction,  Ky.,  12, 

13. 

God,  a  conceited  view  of,  136, 

137-  ; 
Gold  mines,  in  Tennessee,  35. 
Goldenrod,  26,  56,  72,  109. 
Grapes,  34,  47,  48,  49,  56. 
Grass,  rough  hair,  58,  59. 
Grasses,  53,  54,  56,  102. 
Grist  mills,  35,  36. 
Guerrillas,  25,  27,  28. 
Gymno  gramma     triangularis, 

198. 

Hare,  long-eared,  200-202. 

Havana,  harbor,  147;  Sunday 
in,  149;  evening  in,  153; 
carriages  of  the  nobility, 
154;  public  squares,  154, 
155;  streets,  155;  houses, 
J55>  JS6;  botanical  garden, 
166,  167;  negroes  in,  167, 
168. 

Hawk,  sparrow,  199. 

Heath  wort,  18. 

Hemlock,  31. 

Hermizonia  virgata,  209,  210. 

Herons,  132,  134,  198. 

Hiwassee  River,  41,  42,  43. 

Hodgson,  Mr.,  sawmill  owner, 
125;  Muir  works  for,  126; 
cares  for  Muir  through  ill- 
ness, 129. 

Hollow  Creek,  195,  21 1. 

Holly,  43. 

Homo  sapiens,  unwisdom  of, 
139,  141. 

Horse,  ferry,  4. 


Horse  Cave,  9,  10. 
Hospitality,  in  the  South,  12, 

21,  22,  34,  42,  56,  59,  61, 

64,  126. 

Hunting,  selfishness  of,  122. 
Hypnum,  12,  31,  198. 

Ilex,  43. 

Indianapolis,  Ind.,  I. 
Island  Belle,  schooner,  143- 
47- 

Jamestown,  Tenn.,  20. 
Jasmine,  cape,  59. 
Jeffersonville,  Ind.,  1. 

Kentucky,  174;  oaks,  2,  6,  15, 
16;  streams  and  wells  salty, 
3,  5;  farmers,  6;  caves,  7,  9, 
10,  11;  forests,  2,  3,  6,  13; 
a  leafy  state,  14. 

Kentucky  Knobs,  3. 

Killdeer,  198. 

Kingston,  Tenn.,  32. 

Lark.   See  Meadowlark. 
Laurels,  26,  31. 
Liatris,  34. 
Lime  Key,  135. 
Linnasus,  116. 
Live-oak.    See  Oak,  live. 
Loggers,  Florida,  95. 
Louisville,  Ky.,  1. 
Lycopodium,  99. 

Madisonville,  Tenn.,  33. 
Madotheca,  31. 
Magnolia,  31,  101,  176. 


[  217  ] 


Index 


Magnolia  grandiflora,  64;  in 

Florida,  90,  91,  108. 
Mammoth  Cave,  10,  1 1. 
Man-catchers,  plant,  27. 
Maps,  186,  187. 
Meadowlark,  198;   songs   of, 

199,  200. 
Memory,   imperishable,   123, 

124,  177. 
Merced  River,   188;  valley, 

192. 
Mexico,  Gulf  of,  124. 
Milkworts,  26. 
Mistletoe,  13. 
Mockingbird,  134,  135. 
Montgomery,  Tenn.,  30. 
Morro  Castle,  Havana,  147, 

152,  172. 
Morro  Hill,  148, 149, 151, 158, 

165. 
Moss,  Spanish  or  long,  57,  64, 

68,  176. 
Mosses,  12,  31,  198,  206. 
Mount  Yonah,  46. 
Mountaineers,  Southern,  44, 

45- 
Munford,  Mr.,  pioneer,  7,  8. 
Munfordville,  Ky.,  7,  8. 
Murphy,  North  Carolina,  42, 

43; 

Music,  one  of  the  attributes 
of  matter,  199,  200. 

Nebraska,  ship  in  which  Muir 
sailed  for  California,  185, 
186,  187. 

Negroes,  13;  woman  at  ford, 
3,  4;  queer  little  boy,  4;  ox 


driver,  9;  teamster,  32; 
easy-going,  51;  polite,  52; 
superstitious,  59;  of  Geor- 
gia, 83;  a  dangerous  one, 
103,  104;  a  primitive  fam- 
ily, 105-07;  in  Havana,  167, 
168. 
New  York,  184,  185,  186. 

Oak,  black,  6,  33. 

Oak,  dwarf,  131. 

Oak,  live,  67-69,  130,  131. 

Oak,  water,  47,  53. 

Oaks,  in  Kentucky,  2,  6,  15, 

16;  in  Tennessee,  26. 
Opuntia,  135. 
Osmunda  cinnamomea.      See 

Fern,  cinnamon. 
Osmunda     Claytoniana,     18, 

33- 
Osmunda  regalis.     See  Fern, 

flowering. 
Owl,  burrowing,  198. 
Owls,  94. 

Palmetto,  cabbage,  91-93;  a 
fine  grove  of,  1 13-18. 

Palmetto,  saw,  101. 

Palms,  166,  167. 

Parsons,  Captain,  of  the 
Island  Belle,  144,  145,  148, 
149,  170,  171. 

Passion  flower,  56. 

Pelicans,  134. 

Perkins,  Dr.,  59. 

Philadelphia,  Tenn.,  32,  33. 

Phosphorescence  at  sea,  183. 

Pine  barrens,  60,  94,  101. 


[   218  ] 


Index 


Pine,  long-leafed,  54,  55,  108, 
130- 

Pines,  26,  ior. 

Pinus  Cubensis,  91,  108. 

Pinus  palustris,  55,  91. 

Plant,  striking  power  of  adap- 
tation of,  162,  163. 

Plant-gold,  148. 

Plants  and  minerals,  assumed 
to  be  made  for  man,  137, 
138;  sensation  in,  140. 

Polygalas,  26. 

Poly-podium  hexagonopterum, 

33- 

Pomegranate,  56,  57. 
Prater,  Mr.,  friend  of  Muir's, 

48,  49. 
Pteris  aquilina.     See  Brake, 

common. 

Quail  (bob-white),  135. 

Rabbit,  jackass,  200-202. 

Rainy  season,  204-206. 

Rattlesnakes,  49,  51. 

River,  adventure  in  crossing, 
50. 

Rivers:  Chagres,  187;  Chat- 
tahoochee, 47,  48;  Clinch, 
31;  Cumberland,  14;  Em- 
ory, 30;  Hiwassee,  41,  42; 
Merced,  188;  Salt,  3;  Sa- 
vannah, 58. 

Robins,  135. 

Rolling  Fork,  3. 

Salt  River,  3. 

San  Francisco,  188. 


San  Joaquin  valley,  190. 
Sand  dunes,  72. 
Sandy  Hook,  184. 
Savannah,  Georgia,  6$. 
Savannah  River,  58. 
Scale-mosses  (Madotheca),  3 1. 
Schrankia,  sensitive  brier,  18, 

19. 
Scott,  Gen.  Winfield,  43. 
Scuppernong  grape,  49. 
Sea,  beautiful  in  storm,  177, 

178,  183;  our  ignorance  of, 

182. 
Sea-islands,  86. 
Sheep,    predestined    purpose 

of,  137. 
Sherman,  Gen.  W.  T.,  61. 
Ship,  enjoyable  life  on,  177- 

80,  184. 
Sierra  Nevada,  190,  192-94, 

212. 
Simmons,  Captain,  111-14. 
Solidagoes,  26,  56,  72,  109. 
Spanish  bayonet,  132,  133. 
Spinning,   in  mountain  cab- 
ins,   37;    among   Georgia 

farmers,  84. 
Spleenwort,  ebony,  33. 
Squirrel,  ground,  202,  203. 
Steerage,  187. 
Storm  at  sea,   145-47,    177, 

178,  183. 
Sunflowers,  3. 
Sunset,  gorgeous,  53,  143. 
Swamps,     Florida,     83-122; 

vine-tangled,  90,  91,   ill, 

118,  120;  night  in,  93"-95> 

no. 


[  219  1 


Index 


Sylvan  Shore,  steamship,  85, 
86. 

Table,  a  peculiar,  59. 

Tarweed,  209. 

Taxodium.   See  Cypress. 

Tennessee,  15,  174,  175;  ferns 
and  vines  in,  18,  19,  31,  33; 
an  old  farmer,  19,  20;  a 
friendly  blacksmith,  22-26; 
trees  and  plants,  26,  31,  33; 
briers,  26,  27;  guerrillas, 
27-29;  night  with  a  moun- 
taineer, 34;  gold  mining, 
35;  grist  mills,  3 5,  3 6;  spin- 
ning and  weaving,  37; 
grandeur  of  scenery,  38;  a 
feud,  40. 

Thomson,  Georgia,  54. 

Thrashers,  brown,  135. 

Tillandsia    usneoides.    See 
Moss,  Spanish. 

Track  Gap,  Tenn.,  39. 

Twenty  Hill  Hollow,  194- 
212;  described,  194;  created 
by  erosion  of  water,  196; 
flowers  in,  197,  198,  206- 
10;  birds,    198-201;    ani- 


mals, 201-03 ; seasons,  203- 
- 10. 

Unaka  Mountains,  31,  33. 

Vanilla  plant,  34  n. 

Vegetable  cats,  133. 

Vines,  grape,  34,  47,  48,  49, 
56;  in  Florida  swamps,  90, 
91,  in,  118,  120,  158;  in 
Cuba,  157-61;  in  Twenty 
Hill  Hollow,  198. 

Vitis  rotundifolia,  49. 

Vohn,  John,  36. 

Waders,  131,  132. 

Wagon,  a  remarkable,  45. 

War,  marks  of,  84. 

Weaving,  in  mountain  cab- 
ins, 37;  among  Georgia 
farmers,  84. 

Whales,  storehouses  of  oil  for 
man,  137. 

Winds,  language  of,  173-76. 

Wood,  Alphonso,  Botany,  18, 
24,  34  n.,  49  n. 

Yucca,  132. 


MP 


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